


An Alternate Year

by brightephemera



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Family Drama, Stars Hollow, Town Meeting, one OC but not a major one, replacement for A Year in the Life, split after season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23359081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightephemera/pseuds/brightephemera
Summary: In this AU, which branches off from Season 7, Stars Hollow and the Gilmores pass through a year in the life three years after Rory's graduation. Jobs, disasters, and community abound.
Relationships: Luke Danes/Lorelai Gilmore
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	1. Summer

The Dragonfly Inn didn’t always have perfect air conditioning, but the dining room was nonnegotiable. The place settings were crisp and neat, the rows of plates on the wall spotless and cheery, the comfortable green chairs arranged during a pristine moment between breakfast and lunch. On this day of sunbeams and blazing temperature extremes, the dining room was where the reunion took place.

“Michel, you’re back!”

“Ah, Sookie, your grasp of the obvious has not changed.” Michel was smiling when he said it. He even allowed a brief hug, not close enough to muss his lapels.

Lorelai beamed. The entire energy of the Dragonfly Inn’s dining room was different with his return. “So, Michel, how was your exchange program with the big city?”

“Oscar was such a disappointment,” exaggerated Sookie. “New York city slicker. We were counting the days until we got you back.”

“With tally marks scratched into the front desk,” said Lorelai. “Come on, it was at least bad enough that you decided to come back.”

Michel tilted his head, seeming to savor the attention. “They were very positive, it wasn’t natural. Can’t a person have a snippy day once in a while? Not there.”

“It might have been the twice, three times, or every day in a while.”

“I am happy you think my ordeal was so laughable.”

“I made braised duck for you coming back,” said Sookie. “Then I thought, what if he found something he likes more in New York and he’s got the taste for the unique? So then I made orange tilapia, which is low calorie and…which…nobody really makes.”

“There may have been a reason.”

“Okay, scratch the tilapia. And the lamb loaf. Oh, and the angel food tower.”

“You know I cannot eat—”

Sookie flapped her hands, still riding the high of Michel’s return. “So you haven’t changed a bit. That’s valuable information. Lorelai, do you think we can make tilapia our special for today? They brought about twenty pounds and what was I supposed to do but cook it? After it broke open while I was carrying it in…”

“I hear we have a nice freezer,” said Lorelai. “But I think you were wise not to overwork it.”

“Oh, no,” Sookie said, crestfallen. “No, I should have thought of that.”

“I will admit,” said Michel, “it was a change of pace to see a less than manic head chef. I practically never had to rush to the kitchen with a first-aid kit, and we never had to throw out a batch because of the blood.”

“That was once, ten years ago,” said Sookie, bristling.

“Come, then, catch me up on all the doings of the Dragonfly. I need something to do for the next five minutes and I thought that would fit.”

“Well,” said Lorelai, “we’re still in business, as you can see. Uh, Rory is covering the general election in California.”

“California? What happened to Obama?”

“Welll,” even though he damn well knew this, “she didn’t quite get on that very limited access plane after the election turned into administration. You know she’s been working her way west since then.”

“And Sookie, did you have another child?”

“In twelve weeks? That’s a tight schedule. Besides, I like having four.”

“Ah, you did not misplace any, either.”

“Don’t make that sound so surprising.”

“And Lorelai, how is your mother?” said Michel, renewing his oil. “She has not held more events here, has she?”

“My mother hasn’t been the same since I told her we don’t standardize the dimensions of the windowframes in the guest rooms. You know all our curtains are slightly different sizes.”

“Of this I am fully aware, and I sympathize with her alarm.”

“Well, she’d be happy to hear it.”

Another voice burst in. “Sookie?”

She spun. “Jackson!”

He was in the doorway, apron on, looking wild. “Was that you with the fire in the kitchen?”

“What? When?”

“Just now. We cleared it before the smoke detectors went off.”

“Why would I have something to do with that?”

“Because the oily rag on the range was yours.”

Sookie jumped. “Oh. Oh, I haven’t done that in a long time.” She walked out with him, saying, “Is everyone okay?”

“Well, true colors will shine through,” purred Michel. “Come now, is my seat behind the desk at least still there?”

“It got lonely so I made it a doily,” said Lorelai. “Don’t disturb it, we’ve gotten very fond of each other. Sometimes we talk to each other when the guests aren’t around.”

“Well, it is better than your mother’s remains…or at least more sanitary. Oh look, it is Field and Stream’s Bait and Tackle section.” He turned away.

“Don’t move that doily!” called Lorelai, turning toward the door. She perked up further. “Luke, best thing I’ve seen since that silver fox in Room 24.”

“Don’t let me get in your way.”

“Oh, she’s not really my type.” She kissed him, brief and familiar. “How are you? What brings you here at this diner-is-open hour?”

“Caesar has it.” Luke Danes, dressed in flannel despite the heat, slightly raised what looked like a paint can. “Actually I was here to talk to Sookie.”

“Sookie?” called Lorelai. “Is the fire gone, honey?”

Sookie bustled back out and, upon seeing Luke, threw up her hands. “Oh my god you have it, don’t you? You got it?”

“That’s a real nice paint can,” said Lorelai. “You going to get a child to whitewash our fence?”

Sookie glowed. “There’s this particular allspice that his supplier makes that would really put my butternut squash bisque over the top, only, his supplier is an old man with a garage—"

“—A sanitary one, I hope—"

“—and does all his own blends. He doesn’t take new customers, so I asked Luke to stock up on his next order, and here it is!”

Luke smirked. “I’m the best thing she, too, has seen since that silver fox in Room 24.”

“Stud. I have to get back to the desk, I think I hear a doily being shredded.”

Luke gave that due consideration, which was about two seconds in which no explanation came. “And we wouldn’t want that.”

The room cleared, except for Sookie, who was peering critically at the second rag under her belt. Luke cleared his throat. Sookie did not appear to notice. “Sookie?” he said. “All good?”

She looked up. “You are my second favorite supply chain, mister.”

“Jackson cheated. Marrying you was a shameless influence grab.”

“Oh, yes,” sang Sookie, taking the can. “Yes, it was.”

The sunlight saturated the dining room, and all was well.

*

The Daughters of the American Revolution meeting was in the Rose Room at the local Radisson. Not exactly high class, but the room was big enough and the DAR didn’t need much else that week.

Well, proper catering for a lunch meeting, but the DAR didn’t need much else that week.

Well, tolerable table settings set up by competent help, but the DAR didn’t need much else that week.

“My goodness, Emily,” said Sophie Durginson. “We were afraid you wouldn’t make it.”

“And miss planning the Four Hundred Ball?” Emily smiled the proper amount. “Really? Why is that?”

“Oh? It’s just the…” She put a finger aside her nose and winked.

“The what? I don’t understand.”

Valerie Ismay sailed in with her usual meteoric velocity and nuance. “Emily, they’ve been looking up some of our family trees, you know, always getting the best information for the DAR. And you’d never guess who has an unconfirmed link based only on a discredited birth certificate!”

Emily gasped. “Who?”

Everyone else’s faces fell.

“Dear,” said Sophie, “we value everything you’ve brought to the DAR all these years. In my heart, you’re still a Daughter of the American Revolution.”

“In your heart, what? It’s on paper! It’s on certified paper in the National Archives, not to mention the Connecticut chapter!”

“Look up William Durgin,” said Valerie. “Imelda Staite did, and it just went downhill from there.”

Emily looked from pitying face to pitying face. “This is ridiculous, my credentials have been settled since I was a little girl!”

“Without that link,” said Sophie, “I’m afraid the tree is just…discontinuous.”

They all stared at Emily. Emily stared back, and the righteous anger was ready to hand. “You’re being absurd,” she said, imperiously, not hysterically. “I suppose you’ve already gone to the chapter president with this.” Or, since she was that, “The one _over_ my head.”

“I’m sure you’ll talk soon,” said Sophie, making a terrifically unconvincing sad face. “We were all very happy to see you.”

“We’ll keep all your ideas for the ball,” said Valerie. “Such a talented organizer.”

And like that they turned away. Emily, too surprised by the depth of the affront to mount a counteroffensive, drove herself home, and spent twenty minutes in the car trying to remember why she was there.

*

Emily arranged flowers. Completely outside the DAR she had responsibilities to the symphony orchestra board, the board of Connecticut Landmarks, and a number of other connections. Her weeks were still full.

“I’m home,” called Richard. Evangela was already in the vestibule taking his coat. “Ah, Emily. How was your day?”

Emily opened her mouth. She closed it. She cut a flower.

“Emily?” He came to the living room. “Something wrong?”

She set the latest flower down. “Richard, that imbecile Sophie Durginson made a baseless claim that my claim to revolutionary ancestry is—is incomplete.”

He took his glasses off and cradled them while staring at her. A look like that told you you were taken care of. “On what grounds?”

“None, I told you.”

“Well, this is ridiculous. How do they argue with the birth certificates?”

“William Durgin. I went back and checked. He’s clearly in line and we have a notarized copy of the certificate. But that harpy Imelda Staite is petitioning to have me disqualified.”

“That is completely unacceptable. We can hire a man to look into this.”

She looked guardedly pleased. “A private eye?”

“If that is what it takes to defeat Imelda Staite, then yes.”

“That’s a good idea, Richard. Yes. I’d like to rub Imelda’s noise in _that_.”

“Then the nose-rubbing will be arranged. Is supper ready?”

“Evangela, isn’t supper ready yet? He’s been home for an entire conversation.”

“Yes, Mrs. Gilmore,” called the help. “All ready.”

Well, at least some things were under control. “How was your day?”

“Apart from the surprise need for a private detective, it was quite pleasant. I put my second favorite client in touch with Rory; if she’s to spend much time in LA she may appreciate his insights from having traveled up and down state for forty years.”

“Now if only she could travel to Hartford sometime in the next forty years.”

“She’s getting good experience, and we aren’t going anywhere.”

“I know.” Emily sighed. “I should have handed him a care package to deliver to whatever godforsaken corner of California she’s in now.”

“I think they call it Sacramento.”

*

“Are you sure you want to miss town meeting?” said Lorelai.

Luke looked up from the relative mess of his laundry, which did fit into drawers but was never troubled by folding first. “Completely.”

“I don’t know, I just, have a feeling about this one.”

“Don’t you find them repetitive?”

“No. Perennial entertainment is a different show every time. Are you suuure?”

Luke nodded toward the stairs. “I do have a diner.”

“And all the diner dinner diners are at the town meeting.”

“And I’ll be here.”

“But what if they finish the Crucible reenactment they started last month? Last one in gets hanged in the town square.”

“That was threatened once. Once. I have some cleaning to do, too.”

She stopped in the doorway. For a moment it struck here: here was her town, folded into a few cleverly selected playbills, and a rumpled-looking man who only enabled his cleaning rag’s crippling separation anxiety.

And it was perfect.

He looked at her without exactly looking up. It was the everything look. She thrilled and headed out into the light balm of the evening.

*

Luke watched her go. He had to admit, ever since Rachel, he had kind of figured that any time an important woman walked out, it was for the last time. It had been the background noise of Lorelai’s bubbling in his life. Before he realized this could happen. After he realized this could happen. Now. He was done getting sick over it.

He could only ever be here and he knew it. Maybe she didn’t understand what it meant for her to come back. Every day, maybe just for the coffee…then again, maybe not. After all this time, maybe not.

*

The town meeting started off slow. Questions about septic systems, the knit-a-thon, the idea of bringing in a third police officer for high-enforcement occasions, whatever that meant. Taylor was conspicuously evasive on the subject.

He did, however, bring up another important point. “Citizens of Stars Hollow, it is time for us to unmask and deal with a hidden scourge that has been blighting this happy town since – well, as long as I can remember.”

“I’m not turning off the sprinklers on my lawn this month,” said Andrew. “Water emergencies around here are a joke.”

“I am _referring_ ,” said Taylor, “to the unchecked epidemic of elopements.”

Miss Patty sat up straight in her chair beside Taylor’s podium. “I have only done that once this decade.” She waved at a buff-looking man who was sitting in the back by the door. He grinned and waved back.

“Ladies and gentlemen, think of the corrosive effects on society to people constantly driving out of town, getting married, driving back, and half of them getting divorced within the year. Just look at Babette and Morey, showing off their new rings?”

Babette stood up. It didn’t make her much taller than sitting down. “We were already married, Taylor.”

“You updated your ring. For a second I wasn’t sure whether you’d run off with someone else.”

“While walking together. And living together?”

Morey, mysterious as ever in the hat and shades, shook his head. “Not cool, Taylor.”

Babette picked up again. “They tell me that if I’m in a car crash and they have to take off the finger or the ring, with this ring, they don’t have to go for my finger! A slight change to the hardware is worth the peace of mind.”

“They just don’t make ‘my precious’s like they used to, do they,” murmured Lorelai.

Taylor waved his gavel. “The Stars Hollow Chamber of Commerce and Stars Hollow Business Council is hurting for the lack of function rooms being reserved for this kind of thing! If everybody elopes, nobody gets weddings, and who wants that?”

“The party is nice now and then,” said Miss Patty. “But sometimes it’s best not to give the extended family the chance to show. Brother, did I regret that one.” The buff man in the back gave her a hearty thumbs up in contrast.

“All citizens in favor of a moratorium on rash marriages, raise hands.” Many didn’t go. “Lorelai, you of all people…!”

“Trying to keep my options open, Taylor,” she said. She stuck out her tongue. She kept her hand down, and so did almost everybody else.

Kirk kept his up. “I haven’t gotten a wedding photography gig since Lorelai left Max at the altar,” he reported. “This is an impact on local commerce.”

“Let me formalize this for the minutes. Which Miss Patty has recorded.”

“On my honeymoon, too,” she purred.

Taylor shot her a fiery glare. “A formal resolution condemning the wanton elopements that are ruining our hospitality industry!”

Four hands went up. Some of them belonged to divorcés.

Taylor bobbed his head to and fro. “Fine. The haphazard binding and unbinding of hearts and destinies will continue unchecked. Meeting adjourned," and, bitterly, "keep in mind that the chapel in Hartford closes at ten.”

*

Rory’s cell beeped in the middle of lunch. In Pacific Time, which was considerate. She swept her coffee off the diner table and headed outside. She pushed well into the wall of humidity before she realized that most diners did not ban cell phones, but it seemed too late to go back. Besides, it was noisy in there.

“Mother mine,” she said, “what’s up?”

“Do I need a reason to scold my least favorite daughter?”

“What? What’d I do?”

“I assume you know.”

“Well, that’s inscrutable.”

“Ever so. How’s Sacramento?”

“Green. How’s Star’s Hollow?”

“Same. When’s the last movie you watched?”

“Toy Story 3, with some of the guys from front end.”

“You didn’t get out for Inception? You know, BWONNNN.”

“Ohh, we were both going to watch it and determine whether it is proper sci-fi junk food! I completely lost track, I’m sorry.”

“Well, it’s still in theaters everywhere, or so they tell me.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll watch it. Don’t spoil it.”

“BWONNNN.”

“Is that the name of the sled?”

“I’ll never tell.”

Rory shifted her phone to her other ear, ready for the stuff she had remembered to do. “Do you want to know what I did today?”

“Sat around waiting for votes to be counted?”

“Right, but it’s important. I just got off the phone with Kamala Harris’ spokeswoman. You know, if the evening finishes what the day started she’ll be the first black female Attorney General in California’s history.”

“Every spokeswoman’s dream. Did she get it because of your op-eds?”

“I like to think so. Listen, these talks are great, but I think you should get a webcam. I can talk to you with the iPad Grandma and Grandpa got me.”

“Webcams are what—” Lorelai went into an intense French accent “—naugh-ty girrls use for naugh-ty thinngs.”

“Derek uses his to talk to his great-grandmother from her hospital suite.”

“What Derek and his honey do is no concern of mine, lady.”

“Webcam. You could be seeing my smiling face.”

“Yes, but will it be as good as my memory?”

“Well, I could send you a still to paste over it. What do you think, me or Reese Witherspoon?”

“Reese Witherspoon doesn’t have my cheekbones. Dead giveaway.”

“Got it. You know, there’s a guy here who does photography for a major, major site. He says he spent time in Dubai last year for a feature, and he’s due for Armenia after the election. He said he’d be there now but the writer he works with quit and they didn’t want to send a photographer alone.”

“Well, you’re a writer," said Lorelai as if this was a discovery. "Is Armenia dangerous?”

“In this century? I don’t think so.”

“I don’t suppose the bus to Armenia stops en route to Star’s Hollow?”

“After is easier than before.”

“Better get to after quick, before I forget what you look like and repel you as a home intruder when you get here. – Whoa, Paul Anka, that was a future suggestion, not a current plan. I’ll have to call you back, hon. Straighten up and fly right.” The phone clicked. Lorelai and her dog were gone.

“You take care of her, Paul Anka,” Rory murmured, and got back inside.

Her cell beeped just after lunch, too. Once more she headed into the sun. “Two parents in one day, I’m a winner!”

Christopher’s voice came through cheery. “Oh, yeah? How is Lorelai?

“She’s good.” They had the understanding that that was the only two words he would ever get. “How’re you?”

“Currently based in Chicago. I’m very serious with this job.”

“Ooh, commitment. I thought you didn’t need a job.”

“I need a hobby. This one doesn't have a dress code. How’ve you been, how’s the campaign?”

Rory never felt bad about reporting twice. It was nice to have the validation. She found herself explaining this. “Besides which, if the delivery didn’t wow in the first phone call, I have a whole other phone call to try again.”

“I’m getting the doctored version?”

“Please. Polished.”

“Let me know if I should be critiquing.”

She laughed. “No. It’s really nice talking to you.”

“Say the word and I’ll arrange a political meltdown that draws every up-and-coming reporter to the Windy City indefinitely. I could expose Lex Luthor for you.”

“Lex Luthor lives in Chicago?”

“That’s where he gets scooped, anyway.”

She talked him down, probably. Afterward she pocketed her cell phone and just sat in the sun for a few minutes.

It was an all right day.

*

“Sooo,” said Lorelai, setting her napkin in her lap. The room was large and decorated to a more expensive taste than hers. The table was long, the tablecloth spotless, the floral centerpiece red and white and, per Emily Gilmore’s requirements, scentless. Flowers had scent, or at least so it was popularly believed, and in fact that seemed like a basic property of the material—just not in Emily Gilmore’s house. “Why so cheerful?”

At one end of the table, behind her array of silverware, Emily set down her fork. At the other end of the table, over his china plate, Richard’s chewing slowed.

“It’s just, I know Rory livens the party, but I think we can manage basic conversation without her,” said Lorelai.

“I would think you’d be pleased to avoid the sound of my voice,” said Emily.

“We could try something, Emily,” said Richard.

“We could go over the inn again,” said Emily.

“We can tell her,” said Richard.

“She’d find the genuine article and set it on fire herself.”

“Hey!” said Lorelai. “Context!”

Emily set her wine aside and looked at her plate as if hoping it would be faulty. “Some of those harpies in the DAR have challenged the documentation for my status as a descendent of the Revolutionary War Americans.”

“But…your ancestral line can’t possibly have become this snooty without tracing back to the Revolutionary War Americans.”

“Awkwardly phrased yet possibly true,” murmured Richard.

“This affects you, too, Lorelai,” said Emily. “If I’m disqualified, how are you supposed to get the DAR’s resources?”

“I don’t want their resources. The closest I’ll ever get is playing a heroic Revolutionary tart in a town reenactment once.” She turned to Richard to explain the obvious. “Lulu was sick that year.” Richard nodded as though this made sense.

Emily made the executive decision not to react. “Your father has hired a private eye to get formal documentation to reinstate my claim. This shouldn’t even be necessary, but I’m going to have an airtight case built in front of Imelda Staite’s pinched face.”

“You know, you’re never happier than when you’re being petty.”

“Why would you say such a thing? I’m frequently happy when I’m not being heckled.” Emily stabbed her chicken. “How is Rory? It’s been impossible to reach her over the phone.”

“Oh, you know. Election season, dozens of happenings that didn’t happen if you don’t report on them.”

“She works too much. I’ve invited her for dinner a dozen times and she keeps putting me off.”

“You too, huh?”

Emily adjusted her napkin absently. “Has she been avoiding you, too? Do you know what this is about?”

“The thrill of the chase, Mom. I don’t know. Maybe she loves her employer-issued cell phone more than ours.”

Richard frowned. “Does she speak to Luke?”

“I…don’t know. Through me, I guess, they don’t talk on their own.”

Emily looked wary. “That’s an inauspicious sign.”

“Uh, I’ve been doing this for three-plus-kinda-two years, and it hasn’t destroyed our relationship yet.”

“As you say. I’m sure he’s as deeply integrated as you require.”

“Yes. He is. Can we get back to Mom’s illegitimate ancestor?”

Emily stared. “Honestly, Lorelai, why would you say something that appalling?”

“Why did you call my boyfriend inauspicious?”

“Not him.”

“What. Me?”

“It was an expression, Lorelai, let it be.”

“I really think I’d like to know what doom you see in store.”

“You’ve been ‘doing this’ for three-plus-kinda-two years. I’m sure you know everything about it.”

“Can we all go back to sulking now?” In response Richard returned to his food in total peace, and after a liberal dose of eye venom, so did Emily.

*

San Francisco was a gorgeous city, though normal people might wonder why you draped a city over hills like that. Rory took notes as she walked around the Embarcadero. She had half a day free before the evening press conference.

She had a disastrous encounter with a huge candy shop during which she rifled through its pockets for sweets and discovered that it had several dozen pockets, then she headed down the boardwalk and looked at a big wooden rafty thing that was covered in basking sea lions.

The photographer she’d mentioned showed up beside her. Rory and Jamal had traveled together with a few other reporters for most of the election season. “Who would you take here, if you had the chance?”

Rory looked out over the raft of sea lions, the edges of the bay. She wished someone’s face would just float to the front of her mind, obvious, right.

“My mother,” she said. It wasn’t what he’d meant, but it was a good answer. “You?”

“The…fellow photographer I met in Dubai. She would have an eye, a frame for all this.”

“And you don’t?”

He seemed to think about it. “I do okay.” He grinned and cradled his camera. “Anyway, the sea lions are good.”

“Do you think you would’ve made it?”

“Made what?”

“Long distance. With Dubai girl.”

“Oh, there was never anything with Dubai girl. Just things on the road, for all that’s worth.”

“So…nothing significant works. On the road.”

“I’m not saying I have this figured out.”

Logan? Did she want to try the long-distance again? How long did that need to drag on before someone decided something dramatic?

She wasn’t giving up this life. Not now, not yet.

“Logan,” she murmured.

Jamal lowered his camera. “Hm? What?”

“I know who I would want to be here with.”

He tilted his head, studying her expression to an unknown conclusion. “You want some coffee? Purely professional.”

“What’s that behind you?”

“What?”

Rory pointed. “Camera. Up. Now.”

Jamal spun. “Oh. And find cover.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References;
> 
> Field and Stream’s Bait and Tackle section - Field and Stream is an outdoors magazine, including fishing gear and clothing, including sturdy green jackets.
> 
> “You going to get a child to whitewash our fence?” - from the Adventures of Tom Sawyer, where Tom convinces another child to whitewash a fence he didn't want to deal with
> 
> “But what if they finish the Crucible reenactment they started last month? Last one in gets hanged in the town square.” - Arthur Miller's play The Crucible, about witch hunts culminating in hangings
> 
> "“They just don’t make ‘my precious’s like they used to, do they,” murmured Lorelai." In Lord of the Rings, the villain's One Ring is called "my precious" by a major character.
> 
> “You didn’t get out for Inception? You know, BWONNNN.” The soundtrack of Inception had some very loud horns.
> 
> “Is that the name of the sled?” In Citizen Kane, a central mystery is what a certain name may be referring to.
> 
> "Reese Witherspoon?” An actress. Okay, that might not need explanation.
> 
> "Straighten up and fly right.” A Nat King Cole song.
> 
> "I could expose Lex Luthor for you.” A Superman supervillain, who is sneaky in some renditions.
> 
> “I don’t want their resources. The closest I’ll ever get is playing a heroic Revolutionary tart in a town reenactment once.” I forget the episode, but the town reenactment of the Not Battle of Stars Hollow involved a woman who enticed the British general off the scene. Kirk took the role the first time because Lulu wasn't ready.


	2. Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke, the Kims, and the Gilmores pass through the fall.

It was a beautiful day in San Francisco, and a car had just burst into flames rolling onto the Embarcadero.

“Intentional?” said Rory.

“Possible,” said Jamal. “Lois?”

“Jameson?”

“Ouch! Shall we?”

They did not find cover. They pushed through the crowd until it congealed, then started shoving. Jamal was snapping over and between people like his memory card was limitless. Rory followed behind his broader icebreaker. “Domestic terrorism?” she said.

“Brakes failed due to lax inspections?” he said.

“Careless parking on a sunny day?” she said.

“Personal affront gone too far?” he said.

“I’ll check online when we get back. Maybe there’s a manifesto.”

“Think we can get some statements….?” Weirdly, he stretched an arm beside him to block her from the engine fire. That would have to be addressed later. Then he returned to his camera. “I count one down.”

There was no fire truck, but three men had a hose and were drenching the ruined car. They only stopped after the ambulance bore down the hill like a cartoon sixteen-ton weight. Only, more serious than that. Rory did often have to watch her tone.

Jamal was getting detail at the front of the crowd. In seconds the ambulance people were pulling something limp from behind the loose driver’s side door.

“Oh, my God,” she said. Stupid, but true.

Jamal paused his documentation. “You okay?”

She fumbled out her phone, ready to take the first voice recording from her conversation with the advancing police. “I can do this,” she whispered.

In the end Rory didn’t have an outlet for the news story about a housewife whose car repair job had gone horribly awry. She did get a forced, brief statement from the mechanic who had worked on it last. If she’d had more context she could determine whether there was a pattern of sloppy repairs in this city, but she didn’t get that far. Local interest only. She filed it for her portfolio, along with a draft of an editorial about inspection standards.

And in the end there was still an election to cover. Policy, debate, all the things she was an expert in. Local news…horrible local news…would have to take a back seat. Maybe in the future somebody would send her to look for these things. She had realized in the moment of noticing that if someone did, she could rise to the occasion.

Someplace far away, with someone far removed from a California paper. Far away, too, from physical comforts and even a measure of safety. The mind reeled. Her mind took notes. She smiled at Jamal, made sure he had the digital copy of her article, and forged onward.

*

As Lorelai watched, Taylor Doose walked in front of Luke’s Diner. He leaned back and squinted. He crossed the street and leaned back, framing the whole diner with his hands. He moved aside and pointed at a very specific horizontal line, scanning down and around the corner and over. He walked back across the street and let himself in. Lorelai scooted her chair out of the way and Taylor announced. “Oh, Luke!”

“No,” said Luke, stalking behind the counter en route to the kitchen.

“You might have trouble busing tables from back there for the rest of the day.”

“I only have to not bus tables until you leave,” Luke yelled back.

“I can play that game.”

Seconds later Luke came out bearing two fry-laden plates. “What do you want.” Lorelai winked madly at him, but he didn’t take her up on it.

“The Town Beautification Committee has concerns about your lawn.”

He set the plates on the proper table and looked over. “My what?”

“Your lawn. Your property’s lawn. This lawn.”

Luke planted his feet before Taylor and glared. “I don’t have a lawn.”

“Not true, you have a strip of vegetation right along the edge of your diner.”

“That’s not a lawn, it’s a daisy that got lost.”

“Under town statutes it is a lawn, and you are responsible for keeping it to no more than an inch and a half in height.”

“So walk along with a pair of scissors. Or Ben-Hur wheels, I leave the details to you.”

“And commit vandalism? I think not! It’s your responsibility to keep your grounds in presentable condition. This is a matter of town pride.” Taylor seemed to judge the effect of his words. Luke set his jaw. Taylor opened his arms. “We discussed this at the town meeting.”

“Lorelai never said anything about the town meeting mentioning this.”

Taylor finally gave Lorelai a look. “Well, Lorelai’s an unreliable narrator.”

“I assumed he was referring to things bigger than egg-carton planters,” said Lorelai.

The weedwhacker, turned off but moving at a pretty good clip, nearly took Taylor in the hip. Kirk followed, gripping. “Luke, I heard about your noncompliance with the town bylaws.”

Luke looked over. “Did they change the bylaws?”

Lorelai was delighted to have the opening. “Which answer makes you make that face more?”

“Town Council policy is just as good,” reported Kirk. “As it happens, I have a full-service landscaping company ready to serve your business need.”

“You have a weed-whacker.”

“I’m formally incorporated. Just last week I wrangled Gypsy’s front lawn into compliance. The results speak for themselves.”

“Dead grass tells no tales, Kirk.”

“Well, the live grass is still there,” explained Kirk. “It could tell tales.”

“Only if you’ve been sniffing the fuel tank.”

“Well,” said Taylor, “do I have your agreement that your lawn will be in compliance by close of business Friday?”

“It almost certainly will not. I hope you can live with that.”

Lorelai spoke in a high-pitched voice. “Won’t you sit down for coffee, Taylor?”

“Don’t,” growled Luke.

“Extra extra big cup, enjoy it!”

“ _Lorelai_.”

Taylor judged the rock and the hard place. “I’m going back to the soda shoppe. Remember, one and a half inches.”

“Carved into the bedrock of my brain, Taylor, now get out of here.”

“Wow,” said Lorelai, watching him go. “Am I carved in your bedrock?”

Luke deadpanned. “You kind of wore yourself a spot.”

*

Richard sat comfortably in shirtsleeves in his study. The fireplace, the portrait of Rory and her book over it, the shelves of his own books, the knowledge of bourbon and cigars in the desk…his adult life had started when he got his study. It was his shelter.

And, at present, the jailer of a very good reference book that some fool had left on the top shelf.

He reached up. It wasn’t a huge stretch for him, but the volume was unwieldy. Its considerable cover caught on something else and just as he pulled the phone rang. The book bumped and came down with a white marble bust of Cicero. They jabbed and scraped more than fell, down to his elbow and away to the floor.

Richard, who could put a bon mot in the ear of any businessman from here to Cathay, was at a loss for oaths. He pulled his torn sleeve around the long and messy-looking gash and left the study, leaving phone and book behind. “Robert!”

“Oh, Richard, I’ll need to leave early for—dear God, what happened to you?” Thusly did Emily narrate her emergence from the front stair, her noticing him, her racing to him with, even now, her cultivated grace. “Richard, is there someone in there? Did you cry out? I didn’t hear anything but something must have—”

“It’s a scratch, Emily.” The phone had stopped ringing.

She stared. “It looks like someone tried to cut your arm off. Robert, where are you?”

Their butler came out with a first aid kit in hand. Whatever surreptitious surveillance had led to this, Richard was glad for; at least the valet was earning his pay. Richard helped him roll up the tattered sleeve and held still while he wiped down the blood.

“Richard, I will fire whoever put that whatever it was wherever it was, immediately. Are you in much pain?”

“It’s hardly anything. In two weeks you won’t know it was there.”

“I’ll remember.” She shot him an accusing look. “Get ready for dinner.”

“Yes, Emily.”

Robert bandaged Richard’s forearm and elbow and saw him to his bedroom to get a fresh shirt and a loose-fitted coat. Euphrasie fluttered him along to dinner, where Emily was waiting. She looked at the maid like she was already on the chopping block. Still, he ate his dinner.

Emily planted her glass and let her mouth twist all out of shape. That had horrified him when he was twenty-four and it horrified him now. He gave her the moment’s silence to get the first word in. He had learned, long ago, that he could know she loved him because she wanted to get the first word between them, rather than the last.

“I specifically demanded that I go first,” she said hurriedly.

In the question of dying. He remembered. “My dear. I’ll do my part.”

She looked at her asparagus. “Oh, if that person doesn’t stop calling….”

Richard had a good grasp of phone rings, but Emily had an ear that surpassed even his own. “Should we answer?”

“We never answer the phone during dinner. Euphrasie, do not get that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Euphrasie, who obviously had not heard it to begin with. Oh, yes, her hours were numbered.

It was after dinner that Euphrasie took the phone. “Ma’am? It’s a Rory?”

“Here.” Emily took the phone. “Rory, you know when we eat dinner.”

“Hi, Grandma! I thought I could slip in beforehand. Sorry.”

“Well, how are you? What’s the occasion?”

“Hand me to Grandpa?” Emily did so. “Grandpa, could you forward me the link to those travel guides we looked through a couple of years ago? I want to see if they have updates.”

“They were all in print.”

“I know, but the publisher’s got to have a website.”

“Would your local library have…?”

“Michelin, but who wants the mainstream opinion? I liked your guide better.”

“Is there something that leads to this sudden curiosity about the exotic locales of the world?”

“I don’t know yet. Tell you when I get there.”

“Rory, I hope you aren’t pushing yourself too far.”

“Exactly enough, Grandpa. Love you both.” And she was gone.

Richard and Emily looked at one another. It was Emily who spoke. “Travel? For work?”

“I had always thought that was her original plan.”

“You can’t travel safely in foreign countries, except maybe England.”

“Oh, not even England.”

Emily sought comfort in a couple of points along the wall. “I don’t understand why she’s bored with the political beat. The political beat is thoroughly respectable and it won’t involve getting shot at or plagued.”

“I don’t think she’s going to be shot at.”

“Then she can write just as well at home.” Emily renewed her wandering, and her mouth started to do the thing again. “We can’t control what happens out there.”

“When was the last time we could control Rory’s choices?”

Emily brought her gaze back to his. “At least I want to see her before she goes.”

“I’m sure we’ll manage that.” He smiled to reassure. “After all, I have the books.”

*

Hep Alien, rock ‘n’ roll. Gil’s contacts had lined up gigs in eighteen venues from Miami to Long Beach, and Lane was packing with the band.

“All right, don’t stack the drums—not like—oof, that.”

“Excuse me, Lane?”

Lane spared the speaker a look. “Busy, Kirk, flying out tomorrow morning.”

“You could use some more padding around the amplifiers. If you’re not using your own stage costumes, you might consider bubble wrap.”

Lane straightened. “Can I ask why you’re being helpful?”

Kirk thrust a business card toward her face. “Do you know what this is?”

“It’s a business card.” She pushed it away from her nose.

“That’s for the Teamsters’ Union,” he emphasized.

“I can read that. Why are you showing it to me.”

“Well, there is no Indie Band Managers Union, so I thought I would demonstrate my bona fides by paying my dues someplace equally respectable.”

“So that filled in about sixty percent of the total lostness you have thrown me into.”

“Your band has done pretty well for itself, but with this expanded tour, you will need a manager. I need a job that will expand my horizons and get me out of Taylor’s bad books. It’s a match made in heaven. Before you say anything, I’ve handled sound equipment, I’ve done stage dressing, I manage money like a millionaire, I love your songs, and I think I bring a certain je ne sais quoi to the mix.”

“Je ne sais either, Kirk. What about Lulu?”

“I thought she could come to look after your twins. You know, unless you’re keeping them below stage the whole time.” He leaned in. “It’d be a trial run, you know.”

The horror of Kirk providing childcare was oddly blunted by the thought of Lulu doing it for future hopes. “I can’t offer you benefits. This is eight weeks on the road, self-insured.”

“Already settled. If you let me pick the rental trailer I’ll get AAA’s best. We could name it Priscilla.”

“That’s, uh,” said Lane. “Let me just talk about it with the rest of the band.” She walked around the van. “Zack? Brian? Where’s Gil?”

Brian looked around another pile of boxes. “Where’re the kids?”

Lane jumped. Mrs. Kim was supposed to have them until the flight out. “Don’t joke—!”

“Lulu can help with that!” yelled Kirk.

Kirk invited himself to another flurry of boxes. Minutes later, before Lane had properly formatted the rejection, Gil came bouncing out of nowhere. “Hey, it’s the bees guy!”

Lane considered her surroundings. “Okay, which one of you possesses these previously unsuspected depths?”

“The bees guy!” Gil clapped a hand on Kirk’s shoulder. “I stayed the night just outside town and there was this giant beehive outside and the Hartford exterminators were closed, but this guy got right up there with his big bee hat and smoked ‘em all into a stupor! Say, what happened to them?”

“I’m also an animal nutritionist at the Stars Hollow Wildlife Rescue,” said Kirk. “You can imagine the rest.”

“You fed them?” said Zack. “That’s so nice!”

“Oh, honey,” said Lane. “Let’s get this packing done. Kirk, you’re hired.”

“Do I want to know for what?” said Brian.

“Oh, it’ll work out. Hey, who wants to name the trailer Priscilla?”

The damping effect was instant and deeply amusing. “I don’t own that much makeup,” Gil said thoughtfully. “I mean, KISS only requires two colors and we never even did that.”

Lane grinned. “Just a thought. Let’s go.”

*

Rory was covering candidates on the trail. The press swirled around her, busy and exciting. She was one of them. Now she was in a plush hotel in Long Beach. The cheapest plush hotel in Long Beach.

She sat in the hotel restaurant, editing a draft on her iPad. Jamal the photographer swung into the hotel’s dining room carrying four tall hot cups. “Rory,” he said. “Supplies?”

“Oh, yes, please.” He eased one free and handed it to her. She cupped it in her hands and luxuriated in the scent. He took one for himself. She looked around the empty diner. “So who are the other two for?”

“You,” he said, grinning.

“A thoughtful man,” she said, tickled.

“I just got word from the mother ship. They’ll take me overseas, if I leave three days after the election. They’ll take you, too. I took the liberty of stealing your resume.”

“Three days? Where?”

“Armenia.” He seemed to enjoy the look on her face. “Too spontaneous?”

Rory thought about it. “No. A world traveler needs to be able to roll with the punches.”

“I’ll try not to punch you. We’re going to make some great stories.”

More distant than the States, less dangerous than the next war zone. It sounded perfect as life experiences went.

Her phone rang. She perked up at the caller ID.

She shook back her hair as if expecting an audience. “Did my contacts list jump by one entry again, or is this Logan Huntzberger?”

“You are a difficult woman to find, Ace. I’d be a little upset if you thought I was Lenny Hugsbury.”

“What can I do for you, Lenny?”

“I’m just checking in. Black female Attorney General, that’s a big deal. Do you have an article that isn’t about that those two traits?”

“I do, as a matter of fact. You didn’t call me to congratulate me on my progressive writing.”

“But you do it so well. How’s the travel?” said Logan.

“It’s exciting. California starts to feel a little local when you’re only hitting the hotels by the airports. I might do a tour after this just to see what California’s supposed to look like outside the campaign trail.”

“Not a bad idea. The political beat still working for you?”

“Well, I briefly considered a stint in ambulance chasing.”

“Ambulance chasing. Interesting choice.”

“My first break was very exciting. What about you, where are you? Are we in the same hemisphere?”

“Ah, no. Singapore.”

“Woof. Hard to make that a day trip.”

“International Date Line. A lost-day trip, maybe. So tell me. If I were to be anywhere in the United States in three weeks, where should I be?”

“I…I don’t know. I’ll be in Armenia.”

He paused and came back seemingly grinning. “What?”

“The opportunity came up for Midwest Magazine, one of the other guys on the trail is a photographer and we’re going to find us a story.”

“Eat Pray Love, I hope?”

“44 Days, maybe.”

“Daring.” Things got quiet for a second. “I mean, two or three days would probably suffice. D’you mind if I suggest a game to play?”

“Ooh, a game.”

“Any time we re-enter the United States we text each other.”

Rory nodded, not that he could see it. “Just not the naked pictures kind.”

“Really? Just a little?”

“I work on this phone.”

“That’s the fun.”

“Go old-fashioned. Florid love letters on actual parchment.”

“Ah.” He sounded discouraged. “Handwriting.”

“You sign checks.”

“Yes, so I have a beautiful capital L, o, g, a, n, and part of capital H.”

“I bet you could make it as far as t.”

“Stop, you’re making me blush.”

“Is a text good?” she said hesitantly.

“You mean should there be more? No pressure. Just think about me in Armenia.”

“Every day, twice on Fridays.”

“Then I’ll be texting you soon, Rory Gilmore. Remember that.”

She would. At odd and many hours, she would.

*

When Emily came back from the gala she found Richard in his study. Or rather, found his voice, booming.

“I don’t see how anyone mixes up Yonkers and Yugoslavia. If the question might be answered in Yugoslavia then I suggest you go to Yugoslavia and find out. I will cover your expenses within reason. What do you mean, other tasks? I’m paying you exorbitantly and I’m doing so to get your exclusive services in a _timely_ manner. You know what the finish condition is. You will get my wife her tea invitations back and you’ll do it promptly.”

That. That was her husband. There was no storm in the world he wouldn’t stare down.

Emily raced toward the dining room, if only to pretend she hadn’t been eavesdropping. She turned and looked wide-eyed as a flushed-looking Richard came bearing down from his study.

He instantly collected himself upon seeing her. Emily,” he said. “You didn’t come to dinner last night, and then you were quiet.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” She had to think about what to phrase. “An event ran late.”

He gestured for her to take the lead to the table. “What event?”

“Well.” She smiled uneasily at him. “I’ll be out a little late on Thursday nights for the next eight weeks.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’m taking a course.”

“On what?”

“First aid.”

He had picked up a paper from the sideboard; now he set it down. “Really? But we have staff.”

“Who couldn’t nurse a starfish back into the ocean without supervision. No. I’m going to learn to do this correctly myself, so that if—”

“If what?”

She drew herself up tighter. “So that if anything…happens, I don’t have to wait for the help.” Because if he were vulnerable without a valet ready to hand, she would not let her traditional reliance on other trained people stop her from intervening.

“I see.” He smiled. “That’s very sensible, Emily.”

“Yes, well. I have a new respect for Florence Nightingale’s career.” She was learning more about comportment during a crisis than she’d ever known. Courtesy she could manage; here it came at the edge of life and death. “I got the top man from Hartford General. I insist on getting the fundamentals from the best.”

“I’m sure you’re in good hands. Is that a new blouse?”

Not in the slightest. It was barely above “oh, that old thing” status. Oh, he would shield her, but he wasn’t omniscient. “Yes,” she said, “thank you for noticing.”

“It’s very becoming.” She would take a course for ten years straight to earn that look. And yet she got it for free.

*

“Hi, Mrs. Kim, about that breadbox?”

Mrs. Kim, immaculate in cardigan and slacks, acknowledged Lorelai with a curt nod. “You buy one week ago. You do not take it home. This is an antiques store, not a storage shed.”

“Right,” said Lorelai, hugging her leather jacket around herself, “and I’m sorry, it’s just, there was this rock in my shoe last week, this huuge rock, more like a boulder, and it made carrying anything very…never mind.” The glare Mrs. Kim had prepared and sharpened during Lorelai’s speech lessened, a little, when she stopped talking. “What’s that you have there?”

Mrs. Kim looked at the package on the kitchen table. She was seated beside it, looking smaller than Lorelai remembered.

“This is ‘Hep Alien,’” she said. “A recording, from their concert.”

“Mrs. Kim, that’s amazing! Does Lane send those?”

“The third.” She looked troubled. “I do not own a CD player.”

“I could bring you one. Don’t you want to know what they sound like?”

“I have heard them at town functions.”

“But, their original songs. The ones they made together, now with their fans. It could be really nice.”

Mrs. Kim stared at her arm, resting beside the package. Lorelai took her breadbox and saw herself out.

*

“Mrs. Kim!” The front doorbell jangled at Lorelai’s passage. She carried Rory’s old Hello Kitty CD boombox. “Got something for you.”

“You’re back,” said Mrs. Kim.

“Yes.”

“You already took the breadbox. Why are you back.”

Lorelai hefted. “I brought you a CD player. For your daughter’s CD.”

Mrs. Kim went rigid. “I see.” She started looking around.

“It’s on batteries. No wall socket required.”

“Practical,” she muttered. She pulled the jewel case out of its packaging and eased the hand-labeled CD out by its edges. Lorelai set down the boombox and popped the top open. Place CD, hit Play, hopefully don’t melt down.

“Hi Mom!” Lane’s voice sounded emotionally bubbly, which was far more reassuring than physically bubbly. “We’re recording an official concert here but I wanted to make sure you get the ceremonial first copy plus voice introduction. I know you’re on the road in spirit.”

Then, without fanfare, a fanfare. Okay, fanfare was involved. Without further ado, then. Lorelai realized that she wasn’t precisely sure what ado was, either. Maybe this disk had fanfare _and_ ado.

Mrs. Kim had clapped her hands over her ears as Hep Alien dove into a rocking riff. Her features worked like she was trying to swap marbles in her mouth.

“Okay,” said Lorelai, pausing. “Not your style.”

“No. Her band has good people. I have accepted. But rock and roll is trouble.”

Well then. Why don’t I take this CD player, over there, around the corner, and I listen to it, and if you happen to be in earshot you can hear it too?”

“Do not put your boombox on the merchandise. It will scratch.”

“You got it.”

Lorelai cradled the boombox in her lap and listened for three songs. Hep Alien’s songwriting got better every year, and Lorelai could feel Lane and Zack and Brian and Gil enjoying every second. Finally she stopped, took the boombox, and crept around the corner. It looked like Mrs. Kim hadn’t moved an inch.

“Any opinions?” said Lorelai.

Mrs. Kim was silent for a long moment. Finally she fixed Lorelai with a stare and said, “Their bassist is too loud.”

“Ah. Yes, that’s an opinion.” Lorelai judged the atmosphere. “This is your daughter’s art.”

“Artists stay home and paint.”

“Okay. Can I say something, one mom to another?”

Mrs. Kim folded her hands in her lap. “Speak.”

“You raised a kid who knows who she is. That’s a lesson some of us don’t learn for decades. And maybe there’ll be days when she seems like a stranger because of it. But she will always come back. If you leave the door or even a first-story window open, she’ll come back.”

“Lane does not climb through windows. Once she tried to tie a sheet out her bedroom window like in movies. She could not make tidy knots as she went on. She gave up.”

Lorelai wasn’t sure where this was going, so she opted for polite interest. “Oh?”

“Then she hid the sheet in the closet for three months so I would not notice the wrinkles. She does not know I know that. She thinks that if I have not punished her for it I have not noticed it.”

Well, wasn’t that a familiar maternal dynamic. “I could loan her a balcony.”

“What?”

“A, balcony, it’s arguably safer than a straight jump. It’s nothing. I’m leaving the CD player here.”

“Not on the furniture! Not on the floor!”

“Okay, rapidly running out of places to put this.”

“I will take it.” Mrs. Kim leaned forward and accepted it. The image of Mrs. Kim sitting among stacked antique chairs cradling a round pink Hello Kitty CD player/speaker combo was something Lorelai would treasure for a long time.

“Well, let me know if I get an overpowering urge to listen to the ceremonial first copy of Hep Alien’s concert album again. I am happy to rock ‘n’ roll.”

Lorelai couldn’t be sure, but Mrs. Kim almost seemed pleased as she ran a hand over the boombox and set it on her safely newspaper-covered table.

*

In the Los Angeles airport, Rory sat beside Jamal. “You ready? Anything you would add?”

“A more stable publication.”

“Not comforting.”

“Newspapers have high turnover, online outlets doubly so. The risks at home aren’t as dangerous in the field, but they’re always there.”

“I do have the safety net.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“The family has some money. A lot. Of money. I can afford this trip.”

“Lucky you. Ah, there’s the boarding.”

The flight connected through Atlanta to Amsterdam to Antalya. A was the theme, though Athens, Ankara, and Antwerp were a wash. Rory relaxed on the plane, drinking just enough coffee to be comfortable.

She didn’t suspect the problem until Jamal met her at the end of the jetway. “Adventure,” he said.

“Is that bad from you?”

“You tell me,” he said, grinning. “The magazine’s cancelled our assignment. They’ll cover our flight home, which is ahead of some endeavors I’ve supported.”

“Really? But, we’re not even in Armenia yet!”

“Let’s go out.”

“What?”

“Let’s go out. Shoot the city. See what there is to write about.”

“But nobody’s paying us to!”

“Call it a résumé builder. Hostels are cheap, and there aren’t any more flights out tonight.”

She looked around. She pointed out the window. “There.”

“There what?”

“We’re going there and documenting what we find.”

Jamal laughed. “Really?”

“We are journalists. Let’s journal.”

*

Friday night dinner. The evening was crisp; Lorelai didn’t smell snow but the frost did do that nipping thing people keep saying it does.

“I hate that expression,” said Emily, “nipping. It sounds unsanitary. Clean people have no truck with it.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Lorelai said with extreme seriousness. “Having no truck. What does that mean, anyway? It seems pretty normal to not have trucks, unless you’re a trucker. Or a construction worker. Or a truck dealer. That’s a pretty broad net, though.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed. “Are you quite finished?”

“Oh, do you dislike that train of thought? That _truck_ of thought? Heh.”

“There is no dealing with you, is there?”

Something was different as Lorelai looked around for a change of subject. She squinted. “Did you rearrange that shelf?”

Emily nodded. “It had valuables. Heavy ones. We had to fix that.”

“And…why do you hate heavy valuables? Has feng shui joined in the fat shaming? Nowhere is safe.”

Richard set his drink on the side table and opened his mouth, but it was Emily who spoke. “A bust of that odious Cicero assaulted Richard. It was horrible, his arm was a mess. I had the maid take down all stone and metal from the top two shelves around the house.”

“Did you let the valet help?”

“No, why?”

“He’s tall, Mom.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything. Juliette is doing her job. Barely.” Emily shuddered. “It was ghastly. I’m not even going to describe the, the blood.”

“Mom. Mom.” Lorelai waited for a comprehending look. “On a scale of one to elevator opening, how bad was it?”

“What?”

“Forget it. I’m glad you’re okay, Dad.”

“Yes, I like it myself,” Richard said calmly. “It really wasn’t that bad. No lasting harm done.”

“So, small elevator. Dumbwaiter.”

“Would you stop that?” said Emily. “Come, let’s sit for dinner.” She led the way, sat with her husband and daughter, and promptly scowled. Lorelai’s cell phone was beeping. “Don’t take that,” snapped Emily.

Lorelai was fishing it from her handbag. “Every person who knows me knows I have these dinners. If they feel strongly enough to call me anyway, it’s probably important.”

Emily set about arranging her napkin and spared Lorelai only a venomous glare. “Typical.”

“It’s the inn. Just a second. One sec.” She shimmied out of her seat and took it in the hallway. “Hello there, unspecified individual at the inn, did you get the clowns I sent you?” She could feel Emily’s eyes roll, and it felt good.

It was a small voice that crept through. Sookie’s. “Lorelai? You’d better come fast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> * “Possible,” said Jamal. “Lois?”: Lois Lane is the newspaper reporter in the Superman comics.  
> * “Jameson?”: J. Jonah Jameson is the bombastic editor of a tabloid in the Spiderman comics.  
> * Ben-Hur wheels: In Ben-Hur there is a chariot race where the antagonist has spiked wheel hubs that he uses to shred his opponents’ chariot wheels.  
> * Cicero: A Roman statesman and philosopher.  
> * Michelin: Publisher of a series of high-end travel guides.  
> * “Oh, not even England.”: There were violent study riots in England in 2010.  
> * AAA’s best. The American Automobile Association, an inexpensive automobile service.  
> * “We could name it Priscilla.” Priscilla, Queen of the Desert is the show bus in the movie of the same name. Makeup is mentioned because the characters are drag queens.  
> * KISS: A band known for its full-face makeup.  
> * Kamala Harris: Politician elected Attorney General of California in 2010.  
> * “Yes, well. I have a new respect for Florence Nightingale’s career.” Florence Nightingale was an early pioneer in modern nursing.  
> * “Eat Pray Love, I hope?” Eat, Pray, Love was a bestselling account of world travel about finding oneself in a very cushy way.  
> * “44 Days, maybe.” 44 Days is an account of the 1979 revolution in Iran.  
> * “On a scale of one to elevator opening, how bad was it?” In the movie The Shining, a nightmare sequence includes a hotel elevator opening and a flood of blood gushing out.


	3. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorelai and Sookie deal with the inn, which leaves Luke feeling left out. Emily admits to her extracurricular training. Rory faces the question of being there for her family. Lane has a good concert even if her band manager is slightly crazy. Luke buys jewelry.

Lorelai had taken the road back around eighty. The damage wasn’t obvious from the outside, but the fire truck was hanging around looking like a bully. Jackson awaited her on the veranda.

Now she raced to the lightless door. “Is everyone okay? What happened?”

“Pipe burst. S. Pipe bursts. I think the only damage is in the kitchen, which makes it catastrophic.”

He was thinking like his wife Sookie. Lorelai swept in.

She almost slipped in the dining room. In the light from the flashlight Jackson had given her, she saw the frigid sweep leading to the doorway. The door was open, and Lorelai stopped.

Sookie was perched on the counter island, huddling in her bulky white coat. Around her was a mess that smelled like grease. It looked like someone had sprayed the place with a garden hose, starting from behind the sink and splashing everywhere it could since then. The Viking stove was standing in two inches of water, with grimy marks indicating that it had gone higher.

“Sookie, is this…” Lorelai waved… “electrified?”

“No,” Sookie said. Her voice was still tiny. “The electricity’s out on the entire ground floor. And the basement, the basement is worse than this. The furnace is gone. I’m sorry. It wasn’t me, I promise, I, it wasn’t me.”

“What happened?”

“The pipes burst. Right behind the sink, and in the wall over there.” She pointed. “And downstairs. This cold snap, I don’t know. And then I tried to turn off the main and the handle broke.” Sookie looked personally guilty. “I’m not sure anybody’s touched it since we bought the place.”

Lorelai struggled to keep her brain out of a distressed puddle of goo. “The furnace is out, does that mean no heat?”

“Yes.”

“For right now, or for a while?”

There was noise from the stairs. A firefighter in an incongruous yellow wool hat was walking up. “Until you get this pumped, de-molded, and reinstalled, I’m afraid.”

“Sookie, did all our guests get out?”

“Michel is working it. We’re going to have to drive some of them back to Hartford.”

“And clear the next few days’ reservations. I’ll handle it. Disappointing people is a natural gift of mine.”

Sookie’s mouth pulled a bit to one side and down. “Is that funny?”

Lorelai looked at the uncertain fireman. “Not really,” she said. “All right, I’ll call the contractors.”

“Do you think my Viking is okay?”

Lorelai eyed the stove. “It’s standing off the ground and it knows you would kick its ass if it stopped working, so yes, I do.”

Mold slimed her thoughts for the rest of the difficult night.

*

Lorelai showered before she collapsed into her bed, so there was barely any smell at all when she got up.

“oohhggh,” she said. It was snowing out. Finally, winter doing something nice. “A little late,” she grumbled.

The door downstairs banged open. “Lorelai! Lorelai?”

Oh. Oh, no. On a work day she sometimes stayed at her house, so that wouldn’t surprise Luke, but he had probably heard…something.

He took the stairs three at a time. “Lorelai, are you okay?”

She peered blearily up at him. “Sleep.”

“The inn, what happened at the inn?”

“Pipes. ‘s okay. I called insurance. I called mold guys. I called inspectors. I called—”

“I believe you. Why didn’t you call me?”

Lorelai forced herself to sit up. “I had it under control.”

“Are you crazy? Were you managing that entire thing yourself?”

“Sookie was there.”

“Right, that bastion of quick thinking under pressure. I heard when Jackson tore through to get coffee to the affected. Felt great, finding out about it that way.”

“I just, I had to handle this.”

Luke pointed at his own chest. “And you couldn’t handle it with me in the room?”

“Sookie and I were the ones getting hit. I will let you know when you can help me.”

“Right, you wouldn’t want to be helped on anybody else’s schedule.”

Lorelai let her hands drop. “Are you trying to make me more miserable?”

He seemed to deflate. “No. Not at all.”

“You’re here. Thank you. I may ask for your help talking to the insurance guys and the building inspector.”

“All things I’ve done before. Consider it handled.”

“Thank you.” Did he believe it? She smiled at him again. “Thank you.”

“Just ask,” he said levelly. He always said that. Maybe she’d just never heard the “please” in it before. It gave her something to think about while he was walking away.

*

Christopher perked up when he saw who was calling. He closed his office door and answered. “Hi there!”

“Dad? I’m calling from the airport.”

“A great place to call from, one of its few worthwhile activities until they follow through on installing arcades and roller coasters in every terminal.”

Rory breathed impatiently. “Did you hear what happened?”

“Well, the economy’s tanked, but I wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up.”

“There was a flood. At the inn.”

He stopped smiling. “Oh, my god. Is everyone okay?”

“I guess? I wasn’t there. Mom’s inn got three feet of water and I was being spontaneous across the country. What kind of daughter is that?”

“The kind that has her own life, her own career, and her own cell phone for support operations.” He was gesturing, even though there was no one to see.

“Turkey was worth it. I love freelancing, following the story. But if I keep traveling for a living…I’ll never be there when she needs me.”

“You have always been there when she needed you. If you want to go home, you can. The New York Times would love you, and that’s just a bus ride away. Or the Courant would be lucky to have you. But if you think it’s worth the risk, kiddo, the world is your oyster.”

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Ever since I was sixteen and starting at Chilton…I’ve had this safety net. I have always had someone with a checkbook the size of Ohio ready to catch me and set me up in their pool house.”

She was bright. She wouldn’t fail to notice. “This is true.”

“There is no safety net when I’m covering an election in Armenia, or a festival in Fez, or a cricket game in Kashmir.”

“Does that scare you?”

A pause. “Yeah.”

“It should.”

“Thanks.”

“As your father I would like you to have a successful career as a journalist inside a panic room sunk thirty feet into the local bedrock. But the contractors won’t take my calls, and now you’re in an airport.”

“Well, this one’s easy – Minnesota. Jamal’s probably in Timbuktu by now but I didn’t want to be _that_ spontaneous. Which just leaves….” She breathed out hard. “Should I not go out again, once I’ve been home?”

“Up to you.”

“A hint?” She sounded impatient for the guidance.

And he couldn’t give it. “Your choice. Always was, always will be. Whatever you pick, just tell me where to send the care packages. Because badly conceived care packages are not yours to choose or not choose.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime. Anything else I can do for you while you and your net are out there?”

“No. I’m going home soon. I can stop by Chicago.”

“I’d love to have you. The Gangsters and Ghosts tour got one of Al Capone’s hats, it made the rounds in the local papers.”

“Is it a ghost hat?”

“Unclear from the marketing copy.”

“I’m only going if there’s a gangster _and_ ghost hat. All right. ‘Bye.”

“Bye, Rory.” He hung up thoughtfully. Rory on the move and Lorelai cleaning up after another mess she hadn’t asked for. It was nice to think that the Gilmore girls were out there, being themselves. Hopefully not hitting major setbacks. He smiled pensively and let it be.

Mostly.

*

Lorelai had not removed Chris’s cell phone number from her contacts. She couldn’t forget it if she tried, and filing him under “DO NOT CALL HAYDEN” sounded right.

DO NOT CALL HAYDEN was calling. And maybe it was about Rory.

Lorelai stepped clear of the remediation crew and picked her way across the frosty lawn to a reasonably private spot. “Christopher?”

“Lor…elai, hi.”

She appreciated him not using the nickname. “Hi Chris, what happened?”

“What happened to you? I heard your inn had a flood, a bad one.”

Knowing the subject made this conversation easier. “Everyone’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“Everyone’s okay, Chris.” That was all the vulnerability she meant to show him.

“Okay. I just wanted to hear your voice. I guess it’s never real until I hear it from you.”

“Well, in my official capacity as reality check, I can tell you. It’s bad, but we’re gonna recover.”

“Good. I guess, uh.”

She tried to think of what he could do, but there wasn’t much and this wasn’t his problem. “I don’t need anything.”

“No, of course not.”

Too blunt. “Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for calling.”

“Of course,” he said. “Keep on keeping on, Lorelai Gilmore. It’ll take more than one-quarter of the elemental matter of the universe to keep you down.”

“Don’t you forget it.” They hung up then, and she had a few minutes to decide whether that call was out of line.

No. It was good. Say what you would about him, he was kind.

*

You met the strangest people when you did strange things.

Emily was the oldest person in her small first aid class, and definitely the one of the most means. At least everyone else in her class showered. She imagined it would be worse if she hadn’t selected the class with the most prestigious teacher.

As lectures and dummy-rescuing exercises went on she stored up stories of her effort to give Richard over dinner. The woman who cried when presented with images of injuries but hadn’t yet dropped out. The woman whose hair seemed to float straight up after every staticky hand pass she gave it. The rumpled professor type with breath you could smell half a room away. Emily asked whether they were going to do mouth to mouth. The instructor said that that had been removed from the official recommendations. Emily breathed easier, or at least as easily as she could in the presence of that garlic-refuse blend.

In Emily’s exile from the exclusive social club, every first aid lesson was something of a transgression. Bodily functions, bodily fluids, descriptions of illnesses and injuries that should have sent her reeling for a discreet kerchief or a ladies’ room.

And yet, how could Emily Gilmore claim to be practical if she didn’t face the realities of an emergency?

She thought of it this way: Lorelai would have no problem with these things. And if Lorelai could learn to protect Rory, which Emily had no doubt she would, then Emily could learn to protect Richard. From falling marble busts, from anything. That was the control she worked toward. For that she could talk about airways and tourniquets and vomiting as though there were ever situations when one might wish to dwell upon such things.

Sometimes she even forgot about the tea she should be taking with the DAR.

She gardened violently. She dressed commandingly. And, week by week, she learned how to put someone back together after something hurt them.

She was coming close to the end of her course, and it was Richard who let slip at Friday dinner that she had been busy with this endeavor. Lorelai put up her fork and knife and gave Emily a searching look. “That’s really nice, Mom.”

“Yes, well. The next time Cicero attacks I want to be ready.”

“Cicero. Was he the one with the hemlock?”

“No,” said Richard.

“Problem with Carthage?”

“No.”

“Oh, oh. The daring first Senator to wear full mutton chops.”

“I believe that was Muttonus, inventor of the mutiny,” said Richard.

“Richard!” said Emily.

“Just narrowing down the entire population of Mediterranean antiquity one person at a time for our daughter’s benefit, Emily.” He went back to his meal.

“Anyway,” said Emily, “you might consider taking a course locally.”

“I don’t know, Mom. I’m pretty busy these days.”

“Rory is out of the house, is she not?”

“She is, but….”

“This could literally be a matter of life and death someday. Wouldn’t you want to be prepared?”

Emily could see the reflexive contrarianism surge forward. And yet. “Good point,” Lorelai said sulkily. “Hey, you think we could pressure Rory into doing it between assignments?”

“Perhaps a class in Hartford?” Emily said sweetly. “I like your thinking.”

“That always scares me. Still, maybe we can all get together after and give ol’ Danny the Dummy some sweet professional-grade mouth to mouth.”

“No longer required, thank God.”

“Aw. I’m sure he’d be in heaven.”

“Lorelai, if you’re going to be crude….”

“Oh, no, Danny the Dummy wouldn’t mouth-to-mouth and tell, he’s the image of class and discretion.” She ate in dutiful innocence the rest of the evening.

*

The ren faire had a midwinter revival every year outside Hartford, something to liven the snowy days. Only a pack of complete zealots would clear the snow to make way for their tents, their wagons, their actual horses, and of course, the flowy clothes.

Luke looked up the booth using the map that the woman who was almost certainly shooting for “buxom wench” was overseeing, and then he made his way through the pseudomedieval wonderland. It was ridiculous, but people laughed loud and easily here, and after all, his sister liked the circuit.

He walked straight up to the booth with the violet-and-stars bunting and the twining trees of jewelry stands.

Liz turned around and lit up in that you-can’t-get-mad-for-long way. “Big brother, thou makest an appearance at last!”

“At last? I was here the last time you were within fifty miles, too.”

“‘Tis a figure of speech,” she said, eyes sparkling. “C’mere.” She raced around the booth and hugged him. “Dost thou desire some mead? Brian has this killer recipe.”

“Are they still enforcing Only Old Timey Speak?”

“’struth, they have no mercy. Have a seat!”

“No, I’m not staying long.” He looked past her toward the intricate jewelry display trees. Then he moved in to examine more closely. “How’s Jess?”

“He tarrieth in Los Angeles,” said Liz. “He’s publishing now.”

“What the hell does ‘tarrieth’ mean?”

“It means he’s staying.”

“Oh. Well, I’m glad he likes the change of scene.”

“He’s so happy there. You should visit.” She looked around for the archaic-language enforcement patrols. “Verily.”

“You know, I read his site from time to time.” Not his style, to no one’s surprise. Jess absorbed more obscure books than Luke had baseball cards. “He’s very literary.”

“That’s my boy.”

“Oh, look at this one.” Luke eased a pinkish mother-of-pearl cuff off the tree. “That’s unusual. She’d like it.”

Liz was clearly trying not to be as smug as she felt. “I made that one for her.”

Luke frowned. “But you’re selling it.”

“And you’re here buying.”

“But anybody could walk up and take it.”

“Luke, I make things for Lorelai, you notice and buy them, Lorelai gets them. Everybody wins.”

“But anybody could walk up and take it.”

“I did make an amazing necklace that a man insisted on buying. I made sure he was really in love before I let him have it. The energy, it matters.”

He stared at her rather than the bracelet. “Either you are blissfully free of the curse called logic, or you’re operating on a totally different ruleset from the rest of the world.”

Liz smiled sweetly. “Can I wrap that for you?”

Luke dug out his wallet. “Please.”

He didn’t realize he was staring through the gift until Liz made a little noise in her throat. “Everything okay with Lorelai?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. This’ll be good for her, assuming I let her equip it herself.”

Liz studied him. “Herself is good.”

“That kind of depends on whether there’s anything left for someone else to do, you know?”

Liz tagged his arm. “But there is. She’s used to the independence. But with you, she’s trying to let you in. Five years, you don’t give that to a man you’re not serious about. I think it’s a huge step for her.”

“An onlooker with an unhealthy fixation on the matter might wonder when she’s going to _take_ that step.”

“Let her know you’re ready.”

“For what, exactly?”

“For her to be herself. That’s all you can ever ask that’s likely to happen.” She studied him with that adoring look. “I think she does need you. I think she’s gonna love this bracelet. And—” she looked at someone behind him “—ah, forsooth, thou art pale with love.” She elbowed his ribs. “So go get ‘er.”

*

Backstage went on and on and on. This was an actual concert hall, not a coffeehouse or open-air stage. Lane practically floated in anticipation of the final technical checks before curtains went up. The weird stray air currents tousled the bright aqua streak in her hair. Everything was right.

Well, maybe. She prodded a passing shadow amid the equipment. “Kirk!”

He jumped. “Yes?”

She waved the papers she’d been carrying. “Are these the instructions you’re giving the venues for what kind of gear we’re bringing?”

He looked at the papers. He looked at her. He transparently calculated his chances of lying his way out of this. “Yes, it is.”

“You want them to provide a gallon of Skittles with the shell sucked off the green ones?”

“Van Halen did it to prove they were a big shot.”

“Van Halen did it to make sure the venue was paying attention to the entirety of the safety requirements.”

“Oh. I thought they did it to prove they were a big shot.”

“Take the clause out.” Kirk nodded and turned away. “Oh!” she called. “How are the twins doing this afternoon?”

Kirk stared piercingly into the distance. “I can’t get Lulu away from them. Playing, feeding, reading, even washing up. Turns out, she’s great with kids. I just hope this isn’t too much pressure.”

“Pressure? What, are you starting a family now?”

“ _Don’t say that out loud!_ ” Suddenly he looked past her shoulder. “Oh. I think that’s for you.”

Lane turned around. There, in a pink hoodie and up-to-the-minute jeans, stood Rory Gilmore.

Lane ran for a hug. “Oh my God! What are you doing in New Orleans?”

“Seeing Hep Alien,” said Rory, grinning. “You look great! How’s Zack, how are the twins?”

Lane saw someone past the speakers. Zack jogged toward them, beaming. “Babe, time to rock!”

“Living the dream,” said Rory. “Go ahead, I’ve got to get into a groupie state of mind.”

“We’re talking about everything.”

Rory smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“By the way? If you see Kirk? Call him Octodad.”

“My God, he’s not, is he?” said Rory while Lane darted away.

The concert went great. The concert was the best yet. Brian was really stepping up to the duets with Zack and it made their Eagles vibe piece better than ever, even if neither one wanted to emulate Don Henley’s licensing issues.

Hep Alien played the set. For encore Hep Alien played a new song that Brian and Gil had hammered back and forth for months. It went over with applause that rattled Lane’s teeth and left her totally happy.

When Rory showed up backstage it was with a huge bouquet of yellow daises. Lane had fond memories of yellow daisies, even after everything. She took them and sniffed the nice plant-y smell and invited Rory to the afterparty. She was in a band that had afterparties. Her mind boggled to think of anything more “you made it” than that.

This gathering was in somebody’s big apartment near the edge of town. Hep Alien traveled in their original van with Rory added in. The social lubrication was well underway before they got there.

Lane caught up with Rory, her attempt at spontaneous world travel, her intention to be more available at home.

Lane nodded understandingly. “You realize you have to pick one.”

“Well, spontaneous travel this week. Clinging to my mother next week.”

“An excellent balance.” Lane looked around. “You know, the fans usually get a little closer than this. Uncomfortably close, at times.”

Rory scanned the room. “I think they think I’m your ‘groupie.’”

“You are my groupie.”

“Not your groupie, Ms. Joplin, your ‘groupie.’”

Lane started. “I’m sorry, I think my mother just reached halfway across the country and throttled me for even listening to such a thought.”

Rory grinned. “It is a scandal, I’ll admit.”

“Women can’t be ‘groupies’! That’s immoral! Next they’ll be hiking their skirts past the ankle and looking men in the eye in the streets!”

“This is the corruption that awaits if you follow the path of iniquity,” Rory pronounced solemnly.

“I’ll admit to a little iniquity. Touring with boys iniquity.”

“Tut, tut, young one.”

“Straying from the path early and often.” Lane stilled as if realizing something. “Just not with ‘groupies.’”

Rory pouted. “Your loss, baby.”

The party swirled on.

*

Luke worked because working was easier than thinking. He had hoped, somewhere in his heart of hearts, that he would be past bumps like this at this point in his life. But anybody who unironically said “heart of hearts” probably deserved a little suffering to go with their sap.

The phone rang. He jumped on it. It was, in fact, Lorelai.

“Hi, Luke.” She sounded unusually subdued.

“Hi, Lorelai. It’s a little busy here right now.”

“No. We have our estimate for the indoor work. The mold guys are coming tomorrow, pipes the day after. We’ll have to redo the flooring in a few places, all manageable. The kitchen needs some more work but we can get guests back in the rooms once we have the furnace. The furnace is the big thing, the expensive thing.”

Someone was at the counter with an empty coffee mug. Luke filled. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because you’re important. And I feel terrible that I treated you like you were getting in the way. It’s not like my Noah impression has to be a solo act, the entire point was to go two by two. I want you to know what I’m doing. I want you involved.”

Luke started ignoring how busy it was. “Yeah?”

“From now on I’m not pushing you out.”

“Thanks,” he said.

“You can be mad at me.”

“Thought about it. Couldn’t go through with it.”

“You really like me,” she said with an obvious smirk, “don’t you?”

“I’m kind of used to having you around. I have to go. I have something for you when we get together.” Two things, actually, but he could open with the bracelet.

“Color me intrigued. I’ll see you tonight and we’ll get into details. For example, nobody I’ve talked to wants to maintain the curtains’ original non-uniformly-sized glory.”

“And this being the perfect opportunity. I’ll talk to you tonight.”

And after he hung up he stood still for the better part of a minute, processing. There was a good feeling he had to consider from all angles before filing it away in his heart of hearts.

*

Sookie spun when Lorelai entered the kitchen. The contents of Sookie’s pan continued for several feet to spatter onto the wall, the counter, and the sous-chef’s white shirt.

“Oh, God, are you okay?” said Sookie. “That wasn’t at boiling yet…”

The man wiped. “I’m fine.”

“Sookie?” said Lorelai.

“I wasn’t destroying the inn. I promise, I promise, I just…I know I’ve been clumsy lately, and—”

“Take a breath. Ernesto looks like he’s tastier than ever. You’re going to be okay, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Listen, is your hand okay? Since it got squished.”

“Oh, that’s fine. Yesterday’s news.”

“Okay. Just be careful with the stovetops.”

“Yes. I know.” Sookie pressed her eyes with her thumbs. “I know.”

“Hon, is something wrong? You’ve been really on edge lately.”

Sookie looked around at the staff and sighed. “It’s Jackson. He’s been…lately, and I can’t…and then when we…and it just seems like we can’t get time alone together to talk about it.”

“Four children. I could babysit.”

“I don’t know. I’m sure it’ll blow over soon.” Sookie took out a fresh pan. “Anyway, we need this only less splattered.”

Michel stuck his head into the kitchen. “Lorelai, there is someone on the phone for you.”

“Rory?” said Lorelai. “Robert Downey Junior?”

“Somewhere in between, I think. Fewer substance abuse problems.”

“Uh, fewer than Rory, or…never mind. I mean, one of these is really impressive, the other’s kind of a zero-inch hurdle.”

“Your mother will be so pleased.”

“My…mother? Way to bury the lede!”

“Here.” He smiled and handed the phone over.

“Lorelai,” said Emily, rapid-fire and metallic, “you have to talk to Rory.”

“I do talk to Rory, Mom.”

“She’s thinking about being a correspondent abroad. You have to stop her.”

“Well, I don’t have much more muscle mass than she does.”

“Very funny. She won’t go if you stop her.”

“And she will go if I try to push her.”

“I don’t understand why you raised a child as stubborn as you are.”

“She kinda came that way. Part of the package.”

“You must think of something.”

“I think I’ll let her be, Mom.”

“So what, you’re just going to let her sally forth into war zones and contested elections?”

“Is that my first choice? No. Is that my choice to make? Also no. I’ll talk to her. But no guarantees.”

“I can’t help her there, Lorelai.”

Lorelai sighed. She looked at the ground, just in case it had any insight. “I know,” she said quietly. “But maybe she has to do this.”

“What she has to do is listen to her elders.”

“That’s fewer people every day.”

“Hm. I see your point.”

“I’ll do what I can, Mom. That’s all I can offer.”

“Well, I guess I didn’t expect miracles.”

“I never was good at those. Bye, Mom.”

“Goodbye, Lorelai. Mark my words, if you threaten to withhold the things you give her, she’ll come around.”

“I think the mature thing to say is that she shouldn’t. I’ll see you on Friday.”

*

Lorelai had sunk into these visits to Sniffy’s Tavern slowly. It wasn’t exactly her usual speed. But then, if the proprietors Buddy and Maisy were Luke’s adoptive family, they were doing their level best to make up for her actual family. She never ordered the same thing twice, mostly so they wouldn’t start making her food before she showed up. Nobody but a coffee brewer ever saw her being predictable.

And yet. They were so, so nice.

Lorelai turned the pink mother-of-pearl cuff around her wrist. Luke watched Maisy bustle away with their glasses. He was smiling.

“Does she subscribe a newsgroup for puns?” said Lorelai. “I think she subscribes to a newsgroup for puns.”

Luke transferred his smile to her. “You have to have a hobby.”

“It’s adorable. This was really nice, Luke. It’s like eating at home, only you don’t have to cook. Or clean up. Or answer the phone.”

“You could choose not to answer the phone at home.” He really did like the obvious yet unfunny.

“Yes, but I’d know it’s ringing.”

He frowned. “You could hang up.”

Lorelai spread her hands dramatically. “I would know it rang.”

Luke barely seemed to be paying attention. Well, he was, but to her eyes specifically. “Lorelai, there’s something I want to ask you.”

“Before you say anything, cell phones are totally different.”

“Well, obviously, the ringing is different. Completely different tunes.”

“Exactly! It’s not the same interruption.”

He smiled. Then he looked frustrated. Then he looked earnest. The man was sweet when he tried to get serious. “We did this backwards. Or possibly inside out.”

“Did what? Call our cell phones?”

“Us. You, me. We got attached before we dated. Six years ago I let you know that it’d been eight years for us. Then we got engaged before we even knew what that entails. I shoulda known by then, but apparently experience is not the best teacher.”

“Slow down, Liz Taylor. Haven’t we had a lovably quirky relationship?”

“That I almost broke about a dozen times?”

“Maybe I like clumsy men. Slapstick is good for the complexion.”

He started digging in his breast pocket. “Can we do this in order this time?”

Lorelai couldn’t help the duckface. Something good was about to happen. “What are you suggesting, good sir?”

He looked at her. He kept digging. “I’m suggesting a nice, quiet wedding. After a nice, normal engagement. After a nice, simple proposal.”

It wasn’t a blush so much as a glow, hair to heels. Lorelai smiled. “Need some help with that shirt?”

“I’ve got it,” Luke grumbled, jabbing fingers into the pocket where the mystery resided. He was getting more flushed by the second. It would be pointless to try to help him when he was in problem-solving mode, so she let him claw, wiggle, scrape, and ultimately drop the blue velvet box.

“That didn’t contain fragile materials, did it?” Lorelai said innocently. “You didn’t get me an engagement egg?”

He glared as long as he could before leaning under the table to sweep up the box. “I did not get you an engagement egg.”

“Just, with the diner, sometimes it’s hard to tell—”

“I did not get you an engagement egg. I am, however, for mysterious reasons, asking you to marry me.”

All in. In six years, he hadn’t changed a bit, except to get more important. “Luke. In a heartbeat.”

“Actual engagement this time. With actual planning.”

“Not too long.”

“The last one was both too long and lacking in planning. No. A month or two? Any longer would be a real long heartbeat, nobody wants that.”

“My doctor would hate me for it.” The box was open. There was a vintage ring, two very fine gold rings joined by a diamond nestled in golden petals at the top. “Yes. I mean, I was going to say yes before I saw the merchandise, but now it’s definitely yes.”

Luke took Lorelai’s hand and just looked at it for a second before slowly smoothing down to the tip of her ring finger. “You don’t wear a lot of rings, I was afraid the one I stole for sizing was Rory’s.”

“Well, this seems to work.”

“Buddy would love—”

“Can we make Rory the first person to know?” Lorelai said hurriedly.

“Oh,” said Luke. “Yeah, absolutely. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were thinking our first date ever was here, and here is where you decided to let me know how much trouble I’m going to be in, and here is where I didn’t answer you when I should have.” She smiled, because regret was so far down the list of feelings right now. “You’re all in. I get that. I’m not scared. Just a little fizzy.”

“C’mere.” He had a few kinds of kisses, Luke Danes, but the one that said he’d be there until an asteroid destroyed the planet was one of her favorites.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> Courant: The Hartford Courant is the oldest continuously published newspaper in the United States.
> 
> “The Gangsters and Ghosts tour got one of Al Capone’s hats”: Gangsters and Ghosts an actual tour around an historic Chicago district; Al Capone, famous gangster based in Chicago.
> 
> “It’ll take more than one-quarter of the elemental matter of the universe to keep you down.”: Reference to the four classical elements, air, water, earth, and fire.
> 
> Cicero: A Roman statesman and philosopher.
> 
> “Was he the one with the hemlock?”: Socrates.
> 
> “Problem with Carthage?”: Cato the Elder.
> 
> “I believe that was Muttonus, inventor of the mutiny.”: made up.
> 
> “It’s not like my Noah impression has to be a solo act, the entire point was to go two by two.” In the Biblical flood, Noah brought creatures on board his ark two by two.
> 
> Van Halen: A band that famously demanded a bowl of M&Ms with all the brown ones taken out as a means of determining whether their venues were paying attention.
> 
> “Not your groupie, your ‘groupie,’ Ms. Joplin.”: Janis Joplin, a bisexual singer.
> 
> “By the way? If you see Kirk? Call him Octodad.”: A reality TV star with octuplets was dubbed “Octomom”.
> 
> “Rory?” said Lorelai. “Robert Downey Junior?” “Somewhere in between, I think. Fewer substance abuse problems.”: Before he turned his life around, RDJ was a famous user of cocaine and heroin.
> 
> “Slow down, Liz Taylor.” Elizabeth Taylor married eight times and divorced seven times. (The non-divorced one died after two years.)


	4. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorelai and Luke prepare for a life together. Sookie gets good news that relieves her stress. April and Jess talk writing. Rory comes home. Emily finds a new lease on her social life.

Maybe calling in a restaurant was rude, but Lorelai was in a hurry. The proprietor might show up and notice the ring at any moment.

“Rory?” she said, trying to keep it quiet. “Where are you?”

“Sending my portfolio around to news outlets. It’s tough being literarily homeless.”

“Yeah, I imagine literature doesn’t like it easier. Uh, listen. Are you sitting down?”

“Is Grandpa okay?”

“What? Yes.”

“Is Luke okay?”

“Yes! That is not what I meant!”

“Oh, okay. Well. I’m sitting down.”

Lorelai sat down too. It seemed unfair to be towering over her seated daughter. “Would you believe I’m telling you about a wedding before you find out about it yourself?”

“How old-fashioned! It is Luke, right? Because if it’s anybody else then it’s actually shockingly modern.”

“Come, come home. It’s April 12th.”

“Aw, you can do your taxes on your honeymoon.”

“He’s a successful businessman, I trust him to add it up right.”

“You’re a successful businesswoman.”

“And I keep an accountant. But not anymore, I swear. I am a one-number-cruncher woman.”

“And how many people can boast that?”

“Will you be in town for this?”

“Mom.”

“I don’t know. You’re being spontaneous in Louisiana these days.”

“Oh, I’m practically local. I had a couple of interviews in Washington.”

“Ooh, anything good?”

“One possibility for Germany.”

“Not right now!”

“Not right now. April thirteenth.”

All thought of talking her out of travel evaporated. She was too excited. “You’ll have a great time. You will also love returning to Stars Hollow.”

“I really think I will. Say hi to Luke for me.”

“Hi Luke! – He’s right here.”

“Put him on.”

Lorelai seized the phone with her other hand too. “Hey. He was the man in _my_ life first.”

“Actually,” said Luke, “you two showed up together.”

Lorelai made a face. “I concede in the face of these so-called facts.” She handed the phone over.

“Rory,” said Luke, “I guess you heard.”

“May I officially say, Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” He had a really dopey smile when he wasn’t careful. The stare into pleasant distance, that slight snort on the next inhale…Lorelai knew he was happy because he wasn’t even thinking about it.

Rory’s voice came through pretty clear. “You realize I must ask whether your intentions are honorable.”

Luke slid the phone to one side and said, “Have we been doing anything dishonorable? Because I personally wasn’t planning on stopping.”

Lorelai wagged her eyebrows. “I dunno. If you’re not careful with the hanky-panky—”

“Ew, Mom!”

“—you’ll have to help me bring up that sinfully conceived kid.”

Dopey smile again. “I can do that. We’d better hit the road soon. Rory, we’ll be in touch.”

“Thanks, Luke. No hanky-panky until I hang up.”

Lorelai leaned in, snaking a head over Luke’s shoulder. “Oh, sister, is that a chal—” The line went dead.

“Very sensitive girl you’ve raised,” said Luke.

“There are psychological scars. Are you responsible for diner hours tonight? Can I help?”

“In terms of morale or in terms of remembering who ordered what so you can deliver their food _accurately_?”

“Right, I’m gonna sleep early and wake up to do what they pay me for at the inn.”

“Let’s call it a night.”

Lorelai pulled on her jacket. “Yes. Let’s get out of here before I explode from happiness.”

Luke looked concerned. “Will you be less explosive outside?”

“Thirty degrees out, so, probably.”

“Noted for future occasions of excessive happiness. Ice.”

“No! That is not what I said! At _least_ make it snow.”

“But then you’d enjoy it.”

“Yes.”

He nodded indulgently, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go.”

*

The kitchen of the Dragonfly Inn bustled. Lorelai loved to see it bustle. The first greens of the season were in, the herbs had been wheeled out to the lawn for actual sunlight, and there was just less smell of salt and canning in the air.

And Lorelai was here on a mission.

“Sookie!”

Sookie spun with a dough-laden spatula. Unlike some of the things she’d spilled recently it didn’t go flying. The dough clung and Sookie waved it miserably. “What is it?”

“Well, I was going to say that our black market poultry provider is here, but I’m starting to think we need to talk.”

“What? About what?” Sookie was twisting the spatula in her hands, backing up. One of the sous-chefs twisted a pan handle out of her way.

Lorelai wove into the kitchen and laid a hand over Sookie’s, stopping it. “Sookie. We need. To talk.”

“About what?”

“The last few months you’ve been completely off your game.”

Sookie’s energy seemed to drain. “You don’t like my food?”

“I love your food. It’s unnatural. If your food were a legal citizen of Connecticut I would elope with it.”

“Connecticut specifically?”

“It keeps the paperwork simple. The food is great, but you’re practically killing people to get it, and that’s not you.”

“I’ve always been clumsy,” Sookie said, looking sheepish.

“You’ve outgrown it.”

“Except now.” She scowled. “I’ve been off. Because he’s been hiding from me. And that just manifests, I mean, the stress, even if I didn’t understand why.” Sookie jabbed the spatula down. “That man is killing me.”

“Jackson? He doesn’t want to,” said Lorelai.

“All right, I’ve heard enough.” Both women jumped Jackson walked in. “Honestly, Sookie, are you saying I’m to blame for near disaster in here?”

Sookie quailed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He got into her personal space. “What do you think my problem is?”

She shrank. “I don’t know! And the more I wonder the more stupid ideas I come up with for why you’re pulling away, and some days I think it’s because I’ve started smelling but I can’t tell if I am or not and I’ve been too self-conscious to ask you and I’m just a mess in the kitchen and I don’t even enjoy cakes anymore because one day I took home a cake and you just thanked me and went back to your seed packets and—I just want things to go back to normal.”

Jackson looked more miserable with every word. “Sookie, why didn’t you say something?”

She twisted her apron around her fingers. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“That’s not true. That’s never true.”

“Then why the act?”

Since the earliest days of their relationship, they had had a way of turning the intimidating forward into closeness at some indeterminate, blink-and-you’d-miss-it moment. “It’s just that for the last five months I’ve been saving up for a vacation. You always wanted to see Napa Valley, and I have enough for a nice hotel and I’ll squirrel away anything it takes to make this happen for you.” He let out a heavy breath. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“Napa Valley,” repeated Sookie. “Like a vacation?”

“Exactly like a vacation. I just want to take you out of wiping noses and breaking your back at work. Wine tasting, travel. One week. I’ve had to hide my spending for months putting enough away for this.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“When it was ready! Soon now.”

Sookie’s eyes were getting wider. “Eee. Eee! You sure you don’t secretly hate me?”

“Secretly no. Publicly no. Politely in a corner where not many people think to look…” her suspense simmered… “no.”

She surged up and hugged him. “Oh, Jackson, you are amazing.”

Closeness. “I figured I need to provide more than vegetables from time to time.”

She moved back. She surged up and hugged him again. “Sweetie, you and I are going places!”

“I always knew your motives were pure,” said Lorelai. “Opaque, yet pure.”

“Has she set fire to anything?” Michel’s presence at Lorelai’s shoulder sent her jumping. “No? Our insurance policy appreciates the vegetable man’s contribution. If they only knew.”

*

Lorelai hit the doorbell. She did hate doing that, but it seemed impolite to force Luke into the role.

A young maid opened the door. “Sonia,” said Lorelai, “you’re here?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But you were here last week.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A maid, lasting at least eight days. Lorelai shook her head hard. “Weird.”

Emily Gilmore was sweeping toward her and every intelligent phrase tumbled out the back of Lorelai’s head. “Mom, this is Luke.”

“Yes,” said Emily, “I know who Luke is. Please, come in.”

“You don’t, not really.”

“I don’t what?”

“Know that he’s…is Dad here?”

“You’re being very cryptic.”

They came in. They seated themselves by habit, except Richard, who went for the drinks. “Beer, Luke?”

“Just soda, please,” he said. Oh, the roleplaying people did for the sake of peace.

“Gin martini for me,” said Lorelai. “And then, if you could sit down.”

“Sidecar,” said Emily, casting her husband a look. Richard stirred and distributed. “Now,” he said, sitting beside Emily. “What is it?”

“Mom, Dad. Luke has proposed.”

They looked at one another, which was expected. Richard smiled and did badly hiding it, which was unexpected. When Emily finally turned back she had an arguably meaningful smile on her face. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations to both of you.”

“That’s it?” said Lorelai. “No, head exploding, mandatory franchise licensing, predictions of how I’m throwing my life away even more than I already did?”

Emily looked innocent. “No.”

“Champagne,” said Richard. “This calls for champagne and I don’t have any here.”

“Oh Sonia,” called Emily. “Champagne, promptly.” There was a noise of scurrying in another room. Lorelai gave Luke an apologetic shrug. Disliking champagne would not be considered a valid reason not to drink it. He just smiled back.

“What’s the angle, Mom?” said Lorelai. “Poison hooch?”

“We are not getting ‘hooch,’ and no.” Emily sipped her sidecar. She leaned forward, resting a forearm on her knee. It was the full-on lecture mode. “I know you, Lorelai, no matter how strenuously you deny it. I’ve seen you when you let good men go and I’ve seen you when you dig in your heels over the most arbitrary things. And now I’ve seen you when you’re finished with one and fully prepared to assert the other. I’m tired of trying to pin you in place next to a man. Any man. If this is the one you’ve chosen for the long run, and heaven knows it took you a decade since he started escorting you to hospitals, then this is the one you’ll have. And on such an occasion one has champagne.” She let slip a smile at the end. That was the weirdest of all.

Luke leaned over. “That was practically nice,” he whispered in Lorelai’s ear. He smiled at Emily. Smiling, in this house. Would wonders never cease.

*

The bookstore had lovely dark wood steps up to a back section, and then a lovely dark wood door that was, according to the Internet, the publishing offices of Quizzicals. April Nardini pushed the door open and paused just inside.

The place was afflicted with gray wire shelving everywhere holding many books and many more electronic doodads, most of which didn’t look like they worked. She focused her attention on the dark-haired man in the faded Tool T-shirt. “Hey, cousin.”

Jess looked up from his computer. “April.”

They had a wary kind of mutual respect, seeing as they both breathed books. April was just more technical, Jess more artistic. “Surprised to see me?”

“It turns out you surprise a lot of people,” he said dryly. “Sit down.” He pointed at a second metal folding chair. “What brings you to Los Angeles?”

“Well, I read your online magazine.”

“I’m flattered. Although I heard that, through the wonders of modern technology, it is accessible from outside Los Angeles.”

“I liked it.”

“Happy to hear it.”

“And I got an article published in it.”

That got his attention. “What?” he said, like he was terrified he’d missed something.

“The humor piece about Frank Sinatra. I submitted it under a pen name.”

“Huh.” He grinned slowly as he spoke. “I had no idea you were into writing about anything.”

“I scribbled something once and kinda enjoyed it. This is not derailing my science career, don’t worry.”

“No, a derailment is bad.” They looked at one another. Both had used Luke at one point or another to get away from mothers. Now and again that even lined up. “How’re your tests?” he said. “I assume you’re taking tests in school.”

April had heard once that Jess had scraped out a GED and given formal education a miss. “They’re good. 1580 on the SAT. I was off my game.”

“I think colleges will forgive you. You really submitted something to my site?”

“I did.”

“Well, congratulations. You made it past the editor, who is far scarier than I am.”

“Thanks.”

“I liked it. The Sinatra piece.”

“Aw. Thank you.” April peered at his laptop. “Are you writing?”

“In a manner of speaking.” He closed the machine. “The publishing business is about a lot more than writing.”

“But you’re writing. In general.”

“I….” He frowned at her. “Yeah. Sure, I have some projects.”

“Can I see one?”

“Never show your work to family. Either they hate it and they don’t tell you, or they hate it and they do.”

“Afraid of a little constructive criticism?”

“Afraid somebody’s going to play the little-sister card when she isn’t a little sister.” He grinned, though. “What are you doing in town, anyway?”

“Touring colleges. I’m meeting my mom in town.”

Jess’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not due for another year.”

“There are a lot of colleges in this country,” she said seriously.

“Uh-huh. You still based in New Mexico?”

“Until I graduate. Luke does have partial custody but it’s just a few weeks a year.”

“Must’ve been hard. Packing it all up every time somebody tells you to.”

“I can deal. The schools in New Mexico are fine. Just…you know? It’s like there’s just one person you wish you coulda taken with you.”

Jess cracked a strange smile. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

“You heard about Luke.”

“And Lorelai? Yeah, we’ll see if it sticks. I called it, first evening I spent at her place. I wasn’t serious, though.”

“I hope they are. Really. He’s totally different when she’s not around.”

“And he is too old for the puppy routine.” Jess smiled again. “I hope those crraazy kids work it out. Lorelai desperately needs someone else to nurture. Come on, do you drink coffee?”

“Herbal tea?”

“Tea, more Beat than Brit. You can find that around here.” He set his laptop aside. “Writing, in general. If you can do it I have no excuse. Send me your next something, okay? I promise I’ll be as hard on you as I am on any writer off the streets.”

“I didn’t request that, but it smacks of integrity, so I’ll respect it.”

Jess grinned. “Tea, then. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

They separated before dinner, but April signed off with a cheery, “See you at the wedding!”

Jess looked off to one side and grinned. “See you then,” he said. “At long last.”

*

Luke sat up in bed. It was as close as he intended to get to responsible adult responsibilities in the next seventeen minutes.

“We could go someplace,” he said. “A city.”

Lorelai squirmed to wrap around his torso, comfortable in the warmth he had just left. “Why would I go out of town? All our friends are here. And I’ve run a zillion weddings here.”

“Always a bridesmaid, huh?”

She smiled. “Just this once, a bride.”

“Would it be pointless to put in a vote for simplicity?”

“Would it be bad to point out that the entire town will want to be there? If only to see whether we pull it off?”

“We are going to pull it off. Do you want the party?”

“We can cut it short. You can throw me over your shoulder and make your escape during the soup course.”

“Much more appealing.”

“Just our thirty favorite neighbors at my house.”

He twisted to set a hand on her waist. He tilted his head. “I don’t really care about seeing any of them. But I want them to see you.”

*

“This huppah has a lot of baggage.”

“Baggage carts have a shelf, floor, thing. Yea high.” Lorelai indicated with her toe between the wooden structure’s pillars. “You never installed one, why is that?”

“Years. Of baggage.”

“You made it. I received it. Max is out of the picture. And it’s beautiful.”

Luke looked critically at the purple flowers twined around the huppah. “I could make you a new one.”

“It’s been in my yard for ten years. I can’t replace it now.” She went into a tiny voice. “Oh, Luke, I’m so abandoned out here. Don’t send me away, Luke, I’m your baaaby, you meanie…”

Luke nodded to one side and the other. “If you want…. It’s for us.”

“Completely.”

“I guess maybe I always thought that. Not, realistically, like I was hoping for it, just….”

“I know.”

When I gave it to you, and we sat….”

“I know.” She had to smile. “I remember. I really thought you were just going to hate Max and that marriage and possibly me, but then you came to me with this incredible, extremely labor-intensive gift, and you set it up by my steps, and we talked, and you told me you were happy for me. It was a nice day. I remember.”

“Well,” he said. “Still here.”

“Luke, why did I wait this long to promise you all these things I have?” She touched the huppah, though the huppah was not the point.

He seemed to know. “Why did I wait this long to tell you they’re safe with me?”

“You did tell me. Every day you told me.”

“I must’ve speaking a pretty obscure language at the time.”

“I’ve learned a couple of phrases.” She smiled. “And now, just to ruin the moment, now that the huppah’s settled you can pick what we decide on next: color scheme, invitations, or wedding party.”

Luke’s cheer vanished. “You’re right, the moment is ruined.”

“I looove you. I lurve you. I luff you.”

“That is the last Woody Allen impression you get today.”

“What, was that not persuasive?”

“Not the sexiest movie I’ve seen.”

“Oh, if you want me to quote _sexy_ movies you’ve seen…how about Pizza Delivery Babes XXX?”

“Forget I said anything.”

“Kirk volunteered to be best man.”

“You know, thirty seconds ago I was enjoying talking to you.”

“You love it,” cooed Lorelai.

He rolled his eyes, but the dopey smile was right there.

*

The 400th Ball was the Daughters of the American Revolution’s celebration of the 1610 rescue of the Jamestown Colony after a hard winter. From 2007 onward the four hundredth anniversaries just kept coming, but it was understood that a decade was an even finer occasion to celebrate.

Emily went all out in red. Queen Elizabeth II had worn a red dress for her first state visit to Ireland. Emily was damned if she’d let an insipid housewife’s politics get in the way of the celebration that had been hers, Emily’s, in the first place.

After considerable disputation she had persuaded Richard to come with her. He knew all the details of the private eye’s investigation for the inevitable report. She came to the event, took his hand out of the car, and smiled at cameras and DAR staff alike.

Force of personality alone bumped Bunny Seaverns and her husband from the prime table. Emily drank in the surprise of the DAR matrons as they entered. Emily sparkled. She bantered. She inquired into everyone’s latest affairs in the serene knowledge that she was almost completely caught up on matters. She would not be denied.

The foie gras went well, but the meringue was tough as toffee. A few daring women pressed on with it anyway. Imelda Staite was the first to the charge.

She started making an undignified noise. Emily looked over. “Imelda!” The woman was red, gagging, making hollow choking noises. Emily got up, pushed her chair in properly, and stepped around to nudge Imelda’s hacking form up just a little. She wrapped her arms around Imelda’s stomach and firmly pulled.

It took two pulls. The meringue bounced obscenely on the table and Imelda took a throat-tearing breath. Emily backed off and, uncertain what to do with her hands after this intrusion, folded them in front of her belt.

The ladies swept in, twittering their concern. Some of them shocked Emily by focusing on her. The general narrative, woven by a dozen voices over about half a dozen seconds, was that Imelda had very nearly died and Emily had displayed heretofore unsuspected levels of heroism, not that she wasn’t an event-planning heroine already.

At dinner thereafter she was the undisputed queen.

They stayed for the reception. Nobody had addressed her disgrace all evening, but some things were required, and among those things was a proper airing of the disgrace of yesterday. It was time.

Sophie, Imelda, and Bunny were conferring when Emily swept in with Richard at her side. “I’m sure you’re wondering how I got your seat.”

“Witchcraft?” said Bunny. “I heard you’re not even in the DAR anymore.”

Richard touched his lapel. “Ladies,” he said with his usual aplomb, though he got more tense with each new woman he noticed. “Our private eye has examined all the relevant paperwork, including original copies up and down the Eastern seaboard. It is true, that a questionable birth certificate causes a potential discontinuity in Emily’s ancestry.” The bubble of women seemed to swell with noise. “However, he has discovered that in fact I come from Revolutionary stock, above question. As such I cordially encourage you to re-accept Emily’s qualifications for the Daughters of the American Revolution.”

Sophie looked around for support. “Well, it isn’t exactly regular….”

Richard towered, as he knew how to do. And peered, as he knew how to do. “Does she have to save your life, too?”

Bunny seemed to have gotten over the chair slight. “I would approve her application in a heartbeat.”

“Me, too,” conceded Imelda with an admirable simulacrum of cordiality.

“Well,” said Emily. She had her catlike smile. She was back. And in that moment she was more capable than the entire DAR.

*

“I’m home, Mom!”

“She’s home, Luke! God, no part of that ever gets old. Come in, come in!”

Rory made it as far as the living room and stopped. “Um,” she said politely.

“Umm-hmm?” said Lorelai, rushing to the kitchen for coffee.

“You’re very,” said Rory.

“Yes?”

“…Normal?” said Rory.

Lorelai came back in carrying a big mug. “Yeees?”

The living room was exactly as Rory remembered it. There was the couch, covered in pillows and a couple of rumpled blankets. There were the chairs, draped in a thoroughly normal clothing layer. There was the flat screen, looking dusty. There was Paul Anka, chewing what looked like a new comfort slipper.

“You’re getting married tomorrow,” said Rory.

“Yes, everyone keeps saying that.”

Rory’s look turned to steel. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but we’ve done all the prep. All the primping. My dress is in your room and Sookie and Michel are taking care of everything else. I just have to caffeinate and look beautiful.”

Everything crashed into place at once. “Mom, I can’t believe it! You’re doing this! You’re really doing this!”

“With my second favorite person.”

“I won’t be offended if he takes my tiara.”

“No, but he will be.”

On cue Luke banged down the stairs.

Rory pointed. “You didn’t show him your dress, did you?”

“No. That’s why it’s in your room.”

“Got it. Good.”

“Rory,” Luke said, as warmly as he ever greeted anyone. “You’re not covering a war or anything, are you?”

“Not unless Kirk and Taylor decide to get grabby at the hors d’oeuvres.”

“Pestilence?”

“Well, I don’t think—”

“Famine?”

“You’re taking my foreign correspondent idea very seriously, aren’t you.”

He tucked in his chin and glared. “Extremely.”

“I love it. By the way.”

Lorelai jumped in. “Can’t you do the lifestyle column? Talk about your food?”

“That was my entire thing in Seattle last month. It’s only as dangerous as your cook is incompetent. I’ll send you all the best recipes.”

“For me to hand to Luke because Luke can cook.”

He grinned at her. “Just hand me an apron and call me Emeril. Confuse the hell outta the regulars. Listen, I won’t want to cut into your mother-daughter time.”

“Oh, no,” said Lorelai, “stay.”

“You’ve got an entire married life of me staying when you don’t want me to. I can wait twenty-four hours to start it.” He headed for the door. “See you tomorrow, Rory.”

“Are you gonna wear a _tux_?” Rory said sweetly.

“See you tomorrow, Rory,” he said flatly.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

Something buzzed in Rory’s handbag. She checked, and this is what she heard from Lenny Hugsbury:

“I’m in…Hartford. And I could use some accommodations near…Hartford. I know, your time with your mother is important and I won’t take it all. I’m told I still need to watch Before Sunrise, Before Sunset, and, given a time machine and enough funding, Before Whatever’s Nine Years Later. Maybe we could do it together.”

She saved it to have something to look forward to. Then she rolled into maid of honor mode.

*

In spite of the rain many townspeople walked. Lane’s twins and Sookie’s brood acquired white daises somewhere and twirled them as they walked in and out of umbrellas’ shelter.

Kirk stopped them under the silver banner. “Wait. Did you get those from Luke’s, thereby removing the tallest vegetation?”

The children exchanged glances. Davey Belleville nodded.

Kirk made a face. “You’re stifling entrepreneurship,” he said stiffly, and walked off.

The rain lasted until midmorning. Michel supervised the rapid redeployment of chairs and tables outside Lorelai’s house. The shuttles from Bradley International brought in the far-flung. And they invited everyone from the Bracebridge Dinner, everyone from Liz and TJ’s wedding, everyone from Rory’s Yale graduation party. Her parents were courteous and not asked for funding. Lorelai was getting along, not going crazy. Although detail-oriented people got their details, Lorelai only had to care about Sookie’s hair dryer, its interaction with her heirloom tiara, and the fit of her sleek sleeveless gown.

Busy. She’d hosted these things a million times. She’d built up people’s dreams piece by piece, the only hard part now was sitting back to let other people take care of it.

She heard There She Goes Again, she watched Sookie and Rory go, and then she came out on her father’s arm. Everybody was out here, friends, neighbors, family. Luke, who had gotten as far as business formal and didn’t seem uncomfortable at all. She had asked Stars Hollow to care about her getting this one thing right, and here was Stars Hollow’s answer. Here they were, at her home. Here was her life, and the people she shared it with, and it was very nearly perfect.

When she kissed Luke, he gave her the asteroid kiss. There. That did it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is. A series of moments that give a little change in people's lives on a less than decade level. It's been fun talking to these characters again. Thanks for reading, and oi! with the poodles already!


End file.
